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J  DIEGO 


Mine  Own  People 


MINE  OWN   PEOPLE 


BY 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 

1 


WITH  A  CRITICAL  INTRODUCTION 
B  Y  HENR  Y  JAMES 


* 


NEW  YORK 

THE  LOVELL  COMPANY 

23  Duane  Street 

1899 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction 3 

Bimi 21 

Namgay  Doola 31 

The  Recrudescence  of  Imray 50 

Moti  Guj — Mutineer 70 

The  Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks S2 

At  the  End  of  the  Passage 115 

The  Incarnation  of  Krishna  Mulvaney       .    150 

The  Man  Who  Was 191 

On  Greenhow  Hii.i 221 


INTRODUCTION 


It  would  be  difficult  to  answer  the  gen- 
eral question  whether  the  books  of  the 
world  grow,  as  they  multiply,  as  much  bet- 
ter as  one  might  suppose  they  ought,  with 
such  a  lesson  of  wasteful  experiment  spread 
perpetually  behind  them.  There  is  no 
doubt,  however,  that  in  one  direction  we 
profit  largely  by  this  education:  whether 
or  not  we  have  become  wiser  to  fashion, 
we  have  certainly  become  keener  to  enjoy. 
We  have  acquired  the  sense  of  a  particular 
quality  which  is  precious  beyond  all 
others  —  so  precious  as  to  make  us  wonder 
where,  at  such  a  rate,  our  posterity  will 
look  for  it,  and  how  they  will  pay  for  it. 
After  tasting  many  essences  we  find  fresh- 
ness the  sweetest  of  all.  We  yearn  for  it, 
we  watch  for  it  and  lie  in  wait  for  it,  and 
when  we  catch  it  on  the  wing  (it  flits  by  so 
fast)  we  celebrate  our  capture  with  extrav- 
agance. We  feel  that  after  so  much  has 
come  and  gone  it  is  more  and  more  of  a 
feat  and  a  tour  dc  force  to  be  fresh.     The 


4  Introduction 

tormenting  part  of  the  phenomenon  is  that, 
in  any  particular  key,  it  can  happen  but 
once  —  by  a  sad  failure  of  the  law  that 
inculcates  the  repetition  of  goodness.  It  is 
terribly  a  matter  of  accident;  emulation  and 
imitation  have  a  fatal  effect  upon  it.  It 
is  easy  to  see,  therefore,  what  importance 
the  epicure  may  attach  to  the  brief  moment 
of  its  bloom.  While  that  lasts  we  all  are 
epicures. 

This  helps  to  explain,  I  think,  the  unmis- 
takable intensity  of  the  general  relish  for 
Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling.  His  bloom  lasts, 
from  month  to  month,  almost  surpris- 
ingly—  by  which  I  mean  that  he  has  not 
worn  out  even  by  active  exercise  the  par- 
ticular property  that  made  us  all  so  pre- 
cipitately drop  everything  else  to  attend  to 
him.  He  has  many  others  which  he  will 
doubtless  always  keep;  but  a  part  of  the 
potency  attaching  to  his  freshness,  what 
makes  it  as  exciting  as  a  drawing  of  lots, 
is  our  instinctive  conviction  that  he  can  not, 
in  the  nature  of  things,  keep  that;  so  that 
our  enjoyment  of  him,  so  long  as  the  mir- 
acle is  still  wrought,  has  both  the  charm 
of  confidence  and  the  charm  of  suspense. 
And  then  there  is  the  further  charm,  with 
Mr.  Kipling,  that  this  same  freshness  is 
such  a  very  strange  affair  of  its  kind  —  so 
mixed  and  various  and  cynical,  and,  in  cer- 
tain lights,  so  contradictory  of  itself.     The 


Introduction  5 

extreme  recentness  of  his  inspiration  is  as 
enviable  as  the  tale  is  startling  that  his  pro- 
ductions tell  of  his  being  at  home,  domesti- 
cated and  initiated,  in  this  wicked  and 
weary  world.  At  times  he  strikes  us  as 
shockingly  precocious,  at  others  as  serenely 
wise.  On  the  whole,  he  presents  himself 
as  a  strangely  clever  youth  who  has  stolen 
the  formidable  mask  of  maturity  and  rushes 
about,  making  people  jump  with  the  deep 
sounds,  the  sportive  exaggerations  of  tone, 
that  issue  from  its  painted  lips.  He  has 
this  mark  of  a  real  vocation,  that  different 
spectators  may  like  him  —  must  like  him, 
I  should  almost  say  —  for  different  things  ; 
and  this  refinement  of  .attraction,  that  to 
those  who  reflect  even  upon  their  pleasures 
he  has  as  much  to  say  as  to  those  who 
never  reflect  upon  anything.  Indeed  there 
is  a  certain  amount  of  room  for  surprise  in 
the  fact  that,  being  so  much  the  sort  of 
figure  that  the  hardened  critic  likes  to  meet, 
he  should  also  be  the  sort  of  figure  that 
inspires  the  multitude  with  confidence  — 
for  a  complicated  air  is,  in  general,  the  last 
thing  that  does  this. 

By  the  critic  who  likes  to  meet  such  a 
bristling  adventurer  as  Mr.  Kipling  I  mean 
of  course  the  critic  for  whom  the  happy 
accident  of  character,  whatever  form  it  may 
take,  is  more  of  a  bribe  to  interest  than  the 
promise    of   some   character    cherished    in 


6  Introduction 

theory  —  the  appearance  of  justifying  some 
foregone  conclusion  as  to  what  a  writer  or 
a  book  "  ought,"  in  the  Ruskinian  sense, 
to  be;  the  critic,  in  a  word,  who  has, 
a  priori,  no  rule  for  a  literary  production 
but  that  it  shall  have  genuine  life.  Such 
a  critic  (he  gets  much  more  out  of  his 
opportunities,  I  think,  than  the  other  sort) 
likes  a  writer  exactly  in  proportion  as  he 
is  a  challenge,  an  appeal  to  interpretation, 
intelligence,  ingenuity,  to  what  is  elastic 
in  the  critical  mind  —  in  proportion  indeed 
as  he  may  be  a  negation  of  things  familiar 
and  taken  for  granted.  He  feels  in  this 
case  how  much  more  play  and  sensation 
there  is  for  himself. 

Mr.  Kipling,  then,  has  the  character  that 
furnishes  plenty  of  play  and  of  vicarious 
experience  —  that  makes  any  perceptive 
reader  foresee  a  rare  luxury.  He  has  the 
great  merit  of  being  a  compact  and  con- 
venient illustration  of  the  surest  source  of 
interest  in  any  painter  of  life  —  that  of  hav- 
ing an  identity  as  marked  as  a  window- 
frame.  He  is  one  of  the  illustrations,  taken 
near  at  hand,  that  help  to  clear  up  the 
vexed  question  in  the  novel  or  the  tale,  of 
kinds,  camps,  schools,  distinctions,  the 
right  way  and  the  wrong  way;  so  very 
positively  does  he  contribute  to  the  show- 
ing that  there  are  just  as  many  kinds,  as 
many  ways,  as   many  forms  and   degrees 


Introduction  7 

of  the  "  right,"  as  there  are  personal  points 
in  view.  It  is  the  blessing  of  the  art  he 
practices  that  it  is  made  up  of  experience 
conditioned,  infinitely,  in  this  personal 
way  —  the  sum  of  the  feeling  of  life  as  re- 
produced by  innumerable  natures;  natures 
that  feel  through  all  their  differences,  testify 
through  their  diversities.  These  differ- 
ences, which  make  the  identity,  are  of  the 
individual ;  they  form  the  channel  by  which 
life  flows  through  him,  and  how  much  he  is 
able  to  give  us  of  life  —  in  other  words, 
how  much  he  appeals  to  us  —  depends  on 
whether  they  form  it  solidly. 

This  hardness  of  the  conduit,  cemented 
with  a  rare  assurance,  is  perhaps  the  most 
striking  idiosyncrasy  of  Mr.  Kipling;  and 
what  makes  it  more  remarkable  is  that 
accident  of  his  extreme  youth  which,  if  we 
talk  about  him  at  all,  we  can  not  affect  to 
ignore.  I  can  not  pretend  to  give  a  biog- 
raphy or  a  chronology  of  the  author  of 
"  Soldiers  Three,"  but  I  can  not  overlook 
the  general,  the  importunate  fact  that,  con- 
fidently as  he  has  caught  the  trick  and 
habit  of  this  sophisticated  world,  he  has 
not  been  long  of  it.  His  extreme  youth 
is  indeed  what  I  may  call  his  window-bar  — 
the  support  on  which  he  somewhat  rowdily 
leans  while  he  looks  down  at  the  human 
scene  with  his  pipe  in  his  teeth;  just  as  his 
other  conditions  (to  mention  only  some  of 


8  Introduction 

them),  are  his  prodigious  facility,  which  is 
only  less  remarkable  than  his  stiff  selec- 
tion; his  unabashed  temperament,  his  flexi- 
ble talent,  his  smoking-room  manner,  his 
familiar  friendship  with  India  —  established 
so  rapidly,  and  so  completely  under  his 
control ;  his  delight  in  battle,  his  "  cheek  " 
about  women  —  and  indeed  about  men  and 
about  everything;  his  determination  not  to 
be  duped,  his  "  imperial "  fiber,  his  love  of 
the  inside  view,  the  private  soldier  and  the 
primitive  man.  I  must  add  further  to  this 
list  of  attractions  the  remarkable  way  in 
which  he  makes  us  aware  that  he  has  been 
put  up  to  the  whole  thing  directly  by  life 
(miraculously,  in  his  teens),  and  not  by  the 
communications  of  others.  These  ele- 
ments, and  many  more,  constitute  a  singu- 
larly robust  little  literary  character  (our 
use  of  the  diminutive  is  altogether  a  note 
of  endearment  and  enjoyment)  which,  if  it 
has  the  rattle  of  high  spirits  and  is  in  no 
degree  apologetic  or  shrinking,  yet  offers 
a  very  liberal  pledge  in  the  way  of  good 
faith  and  immediate  performance.  Mr. 
Kipling's  performance  comes  off  before  the 
more  circumspect  have  time  to  decide 
whether  they  like  him  or  not,  and  if  you 
have  seen  it  once  you  will  be  sure  to  return 
to  the  show.  He  makes  us  prick  up  our 
ears  to  the  good  news  that  in  the  smoking- 
room  too  there  may  be  artists;  and  indeed 


Introduction  9 

to  an  intimation  still  more  refined  —  that 
the  latest  development  of  the  modern  also 
may  be,  most  successfully,  for  the  canny 
artist  to  put  his  victim  off  his  guard  by 
imitating  the  amateur  (superficially,  of 
course)  to  the  life. 

These,  then,  are  some  of  the  reasons  why 
Mr.  Kipling  may  be  dear  to  the  analyst  as 
well  as,  M.  Renan  says,  to  the  simple.  The 
simple  may  like  him  because  he  is  wonder- 
ful about  India,  and  India  has  not  been 
"done;"  while  there  is  plenty  left  for  the 
morbid  reader  in  the  surprises  of  his  skill 
and  the  tlorituvc  of  his  form,  which  are  so 
oddly  independent  of  any  distinctive  lit- 
erary note  in  him,  any  bookish  associa- 
tion. It  is  as  one  of  the  morbid  that  the 
writer  of  these  remarks  (which  doubtless 
only  too  shamefully  betray  his  character) 
exposes  himself  as  most  consentingly  under 
the  spell.  The  freshness  arising  from  a 
subject  that  —  by  a  good  fortune  I  do  not 
mean  to  underestimate  —  has  never  been 
"  done,'?  is  after  all  less  of  an  affair  to  build 
upon  than  the  freshness  residing  in  the 
temper  of  the  artist.  Happy  indeed  is  Mr. 
Kipling,  who  can  command  so  much  of 
both  kinds.  It  is  still  as  one  of  the  mor- 
bid, no  doubt  —  that  is,  as  one  of  those 
who  are  capable  of  sitting  up  all  night  for 
a  new  impression  of  talent,  of  scouring  the 
trodden  field  for  one  little  spot  of  green  — 


i  o  Introduction 

that  I  find  our  young  author  quite  most 
curious  in  his  air,  and  not  only  in  his  air, 
but  in  his  evidently  very  real  sense,  of 
knowing  his  way  about  life.  Curious  in 
the  highest  degree  and  well  worth  attention 
is  such  an  idiosyncrasy  as  this  in  a  young 
Anglo-Saxon.  We  meet  it  with  familiar 
frequency  in  the  budding  talents  of  France, 
and  it  startles  and  haunts  us  for  an  hour. 
After  an  hour,  however,  the  mystery  is  apt 
to  fade,  for  we  find  that  the  wondrous  initi- 
ation is  not  in  the  least  general,  is  only 
exceedingly  special,  and  is,  even  with  this 
limitation,  very  often  rather  conventional. 
In  a  word,  it  is  with  the  ladies  that  the 
young  Frenchman  takes  his  ease,  and  more 
particularly  with  ladies  selected  expressly 
to  make  this  attitude  convincing.  When 
they  have  let  him  off,  the  dimnesses  too 
often  encompass  him.  But  for  Mr.  Kip- 
ling there  are  no  dimnesses  anywhere,  and 
if  the  ladies  are  indeed  violently  distinct 
they  are  not  only  strong  notes  in  a  univer- 
sal loudness.  This  loudness  fills  the  ears 
of  Mr.  Kipling's  admirers  (it  lacks  sweet- 
ness, no  doubt,  for  those  who  are  not  of 
the  number),  and  there  is  really  only  one 
strain  that  is  absent  from  it  —  the  voice,  as 
it  were,  of  the  civilized  man;  in  whom  I  of 
course  also  include  the  civilized  woman. 
But  this  is  an  element  that  for  the  present 


Introduction  1 1 

one  does  not  miss  —  every  other  note  is  so 
articulate  and  direct. 

It  is  a  part  of  the  satisfaction  the  author 
gives  us  that  he  can  make  us  speculate  as 
to  whether  he  will  be  able  to  complete  his 
picture  altogether  (this  is  as  far  as  we  pre- 
sume to  go  in  meddling  with  the  question 
of  his  future)  without  bringing  in  the  com- 
plicated soul.  On  the  day  he  does  so,  if 
he  handles  it  with  anything  like  the  clever- 
ness he  has  already  shown,  the  expectation 
of  his  friends  will  take  a  great  bound. 
Meanwhile,  at  any  rate,  we  have  Mulvaney, 
and  Mulvaney  is  after  all  tolerably  compli- 
cated. He  is  only  a  six-foot  saturated  Irish 
private,  but  he  is  a  considerable  pledge  of 
more  to  come.  Hasn't  he,  for  that  matter, 
the  tongue  of  a  hoarse  siren,  and  hasn't  he 
also  mysteries  and  infinitudes  almost  Car- 
lylese?  Since  I  am  speaking  of  him  I  may 
as  well  say  that,  as  an  evocation,  he  has 
probably  led  captive  those  of  Mr.  Kipling's 
readers  who  have  most  given  up  resistance. 
He  is  a  piece  of  portraiture  of  the  largest, 
vividest  kind,  growing  and  growing  on  the 
painter's  hands  without  ever  outgrowing 
them.  I  can't  help  regarding  him,  in  a 
certain  sense,  as  Mr.  Kipling's  tutelary 
deity  —  a  landmark  in  the  direction  in 
which  it  is  open  to  him  to  look  furthest.  If 
the  author  will  only  go  as  far  in  this  direc- 
tion as  Mulvaney  is  capable  of  taking  him 


1 2  Introduction 

(and  the  inimitable  Irishman  is,  like  Vol- 
taire's Habakkuk,  capable  de  tout),  he  may 
still  discover  a  treasure  and  find  a  reward 
for  the  services  he  has  rendered  the  winner 
of  Dinah  Shadd.  I  hasten  to  add  that  the 
truly  appreciative  reader  should  surely 
have  no  quarrel  with  the  primitive  element 
in  Air.  Kipling's  subject-matter,  or  with 
what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  I  may  call 
his  love  of  low  life.  What  is  that  but 
essentially  a  part  of  his  freshness?  And 
for  what  part  of  his  freshness  are  we  exactly 
more  thankful  than  for  just  this  smart 
jostle  that  he  gives  the  old  stupid  super- 
stition that  the  amiability  of  a  story-teller 
is  the  amiability  of  the  people  he  repre- 
sents —  that  their  vulgarity,  or  depravity, 
or  gentility,  or  fatuity  are  tantamount  to 
the  same  qualities  in  the  painter  itself?  A 
blow  from  which,  apparently,  it  will  not 
easily  recover  is  dealt  this  infantine  phil- 
osophy by  Mr.  Howells  when,  with  the 
most  distinguished  dexterity  and  all  the 
detachment  of  a  master,  he  handles  some 
of  the  clumsiest,  crudest,  most  human 
things  in  life  —  answering  surely  thereby 
the  play-goers  in  the  sixpenny  gallery  who 
howl  at  the  representative  of  the  villain 
when  he  comes  before  the  curtain. 

Nothing  is  more  refreshing  than  this 
active,  disinterested  sense  of  the  real;  it  is 
doubtless  the  quality  for  the  want  of  more 


Introduction  1 3 

of  which  our  English  and  American  fiction 
has  turned  so  wofully  stale.  We  are  rid- 
den by  the  old  conventionalities  of  type 
and  small  proprieties  of  observance  —  by 
the  foolish  baby-formula  (to  put  it  sketch- 
ily)  of  the  picture  and  the  subject.  Mr. 
Kipling  has  all  the  air  of  being  disposed  to 
lift  the  whole  business  off  the  nursery  car- 
pet, and  of  being  perhaps  even  more  able 
than  he  is  disposed.  One  must  hasten  of 
course  to  parenthesize  that  there  is  not, 
intrinsically,  a  bit  more  luminosity  in  treat- 
ing of  low  life  and  of  primitive  man  than 
of  those  whom  civilization  has  kneaded  to 
a  finer  paste:  the  only  luminosity  in  either 
case  is  in  the  intelligence  with  which  the 
thing  is  done.  But  it  so  happens  that, 
among  ourselves,  the  frank,  capable  out- 
look, when  turned  upon  the  vulgar  major- 
ity, the  coarse,  receding  edges  of  the  social 
perspective,  borrows  a  charm  from  being 
new;  such  a  charm  as,  for  instance,  repeti- 
tion has  already  despoiled  it  of  among  the 
French  —  the  napless  French  who  pay  the 
penalty  as  well  as  enjoy  the  glow  of  living 
intellectually  so  much  faster  than  we.  It 
is  the  most  inexorable  part  of  our  fate  that 
we  grow  tired  of  everything,  and  of  course 
in  due  time  we  may  grow  tired  even  of 
what  explorers  shall  come  back  to  tell  us 
about  the  great  grimy  condition,  or,  with 
unprecedented  items  and  details,  about  the 


14  Introduction 

gray  middle  state  which  darkens  into  it. 
But  the  explorers,  bless  them!  may  have 
a  long  day  before  that ;  it  is  early  to  trouble 
about  reactions,  so  that  we  must  give  them 
the  benefit  of  every  presumption.  We  are 
thankful  for  any  boldness  and  any  sharp 
curiosity,  and  that  is  why  we  are  thankful 
for  Mr.  Kipling's  general  spirit  and  for 
most  of  his  excursions. 

Many  of  these,  certainly,  are  into  a 
region  not  to  be  designated  as  superficially 
dim,  though  indeed  the  author  always 
reminds  us  that  India  is  above  all  the  land 
of  mystery.  A  large  part  of  his  high 
spirits,  and  of  ours,  comes  doubtless  from 
the  amusement  of  such  vivid,  heterogene- 
ous material,  from  the  irresistible  magic  of 
scorching  suns,  subject  empires,  uncanny 
religions,  uneasy  garrisons  and  smoth- 
ered-up  women  —  from  heat  and  color  and 
danger  and  dust.  India  is  a  portentous 
image,  and  we  are  duly  awed  by  the  famili- 
arities it  undergoes  at  Mr.  Kipling's  hand 
and  by  the  fine  impunity,  the  sort  of  for- 
tune that  favors  the  brave,  of  his  want  of 
awe.  An  abject  humility  is  not  his  strong 
point,  but  he  gives  us  something  instead 
of  it  —  vividness  and  drollery,  the  vision 
and  the  thrill  of  many  things,  the  misery 
and  strangeness  of  most,  the  personal  sense 
of  a  hundred  queer  contacts  and  risks. 
And  then  in  the  absence  of  respect  he  has 


Introduction  1 5 

plenty  of  knowledge,  and  if  knowledge 
should  fail  him  he  would  have  plenty  of 
invention.  Moreover,  if  invention  should 
ever  fail  him,  he  would  still  have  the  lyric 
string  and  the  patriotic  chord,  on  which 
he  plays  admirably;  so  that  it  may  be  said 
he  is  a  man  of  resources.  What  he  gives 
us,  above  all,  is  the  feeling  of  the  English 
manner  and  the  English  blood  in  condi- 
tions they  have  made  at  once  so  much  and 
so  little  their  own ;  with  manifestations  gro- 
tesque enough  in  some  of  his  satiric 
sketches  and  deeply  impressive  in  some  of 
his  anecdotes  of  individual  responsibility. 
His  Indian  impressions  divide  themselves 
into  three  groups,  one  of  which,  I  think, 
very  much  outshines  the  others.  First  to 
be  mentioned  are  the  tales  of  native  life, 
curious  glimpses  of  custom  and  supersti- 
tion, dusky  matters  not  beholden  of  the 
many,  for  which  the  author  has  a  remark- 
able flair.  Then  comes  the  social,  the 
Anglo-Indian  episode,  the  study  of  admin- 
istrative and  military  types,  and  of  the  won- 
derful rattling,  riding  ladies  who,  at  Simla 
and  more  desperate  stations,  look  out  for 
husbands  and  lovers;  often,  it  would  seem, 
and  husbands  and  lovers  of  others.  The 
most  brilliant  group  is  devoted  wholly 
to  the  common  soldier,  and  of  this 
series  it  appears  to  me  that  too  much 
good    is    hardly    to    be    said.     Here    Mr. 


1 6  Introduction 

Kipling.  ..'.    his     ?r-i;:.:;.ied:".ess.    is 

amastc  e  id  not  so   much 

greater    or    less    od  the 

particular  yarn  —  sometimes  it  is  scai 

am  at  all,  but  something  much  less  arti- 
ficial —  as  by  the  robust  attitude  of  the  nar- 

r  arranges   or    gl    sses 
falsifies,  but  makes    straig 
mon  and  the  characteristic     I  have  men- 
tioned the  great   esteem         which  I  hold 
Mulvaney  —  sure,      a    charming   man  and 
one   qualified   to   adorn   a   higher   sphere. 
Mulvaney  is  a  creation  to  be  proud  o: 
his  two  comrades  stand  as  firm 
legs.     In  spite  of  [ley's  social  p 

biliti—  are  all  three  finished  br 

but  it  is  precisely  in  the  finish   tha 
delight.     Whatever  Mr.  Kipling  may  r 
about  them  forever  will  encounter  readers 
equally  fascinated  and  unable  fully  to  jus- 
tify their  faith. 

e  not  those  liter?,  r     pleasures  after  all 
the  most  intense  which  are  the  : 

-   .    '  :  i::  :e:e::s: 

There  is  a  logic  in  them  som  .  but 

it  often  lies  below  the  plummet 

The  spell  :         be  weak  in  a  T 

cular 

claim,  and  it  may  sistible  in  one  who 

himself  ling 

bad  hat.     A  good  h        s       ::er  than 

:.  '  ..  ■  may  wear  either. 


Introduction  17 

Many  a  reader  will  never  be  able  to  say 
what  secret  human  force  lays  its  hand  upon 
him  when  Priva:  -is,  having  sworn 

"  quietly  into  the  blu  joes  mad  with 

homesickness  by  the  yellow  river  and 
raves  for  the  basest  sights  and  sounds  of 
London.  I  can  scarcely  tell  why  I  think 
"  The  Courting  of  Dinah  Shadd  "  a  master- 
piece (though,  indeed.  I  can  make  a  shrewd 
-  at  one  of  the  reasons),  nor  would  it 
be  worth  while  perhaps  to  attempt  to 
defend  the  same  pretension  in  regard  to 
"  On  Greenhow  Hill " —  much  less  to 
trouble  the  tolerant  reader  of  these  remarks 
with  a  statement  of  how  many  more  per- 
formances in  the  natur  _:id  of  the 
Passage  *'  (quite  admitting  even  that  they 
might   not   represent   Mr.   Kipling   a: 

I  am  conscious  of  a  latent  relish  for. 
One  might  as  well  admit  while  one  is  about 
it  that  one  has  wept  profusely  over  u  The 
Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft,"  the  history 
of  the  u  Dutch  courage  "  of  two  dreadful 
dirty  little  boys,  who,  in  the  fa :  .ians 

scarcely  more  dreadful,  saved  the  reputa- 
tion of  their  regiment  and  perished,  the 
least  mawkishly  in  the  world,  in  a  squalor 
of  battle  incomparably  expressed.  People 
who  know  how  peaceful  they  are  them- 
selves and  have  no  bloodshed  to  reproach 
themselves  with  needn't  scruple  to  mention 
the  glamour  that  Mr.  Kipling "-  mil- 


1 8  Introduction 

itarism  has  for  them,  and  how  astonishing 
and  contagious  they  find  it,  in  spite  of  the 
unromantic  complexion  of  it  —  the  way  it 
bristles  with  all  sorts  of  uglinesses  and 
technicalities.  Perhaps  that  is  why  I  go  all 
the  way  even  with  "  The  Gadsbys  " —  the 
Gadsbys  were  so  connected  (uncomfort- 
ably, it  is  true)  with  the  army.  There  is 
fearful  fighting  —  or  a  fearful  danger  of 
it  —  in  "  The  Man  Who  Would  be  King:  " 
is  that  the  reason  we  are  deeply  affected 
by  this  extraordinary  tale?  It  is  one  of 
them,  doubtless,  for  Mr.  Kipling  has  many 
reasons,  after  all,  on  his  side,  though  they 
don't  equally  call  aloud  to  be  uttered. 

One  more  of  them,  at  any  rate,  I  must 
add  to  these  unsystematized  remarks  —  it 
is  the  one  I  spoke  of  a  shrewd  guess  at  in 
alluding  to  "  The  Courting  of  Dinah 
Shadd."  The  talent  that  produces  such  a 
tale  is  a  talent  eminently  in  harmony  with 
the  short  story,  and  the  short  story  is,  on 
our  side  of  the  Channel  and  of  the  Atlantic, 
a  mine  which  will  take  a  great  deal  of  work- 
ing. Admirable  is  the  clearness  with 
which  Mr.  Kipling  perceives  this  —  per- 
ceives what  innumerable  chances  it  gives, 
chances  of  touching  life  in  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent places,  taking  it  up  in  innumerable 
pieces,  each  a  specimen  and  an  illustration. 
In  a  word,  he  appreciates  the  episode,  and 
there  are  signs  to  show  that  this  shrewd- 


Introduction  19 

ness  will,  in  general,  have  long  innings.  It 
will  find  the  detachable,  compressible 
"  case  "  and  admirable,  flexible  form;  the 
cultivation  of  which  may  well  add  to  the 
mistrust  already  entertained  by  Mr.  Kip- 
ling, if  his  manner  does  not  betray  him,  for 
what  is  clumsy  and  tasteless  in  the  time- 
honored  practice  of  the  "  plot."  It  will  for- 
tify him  in  the  conviction  that  the  vivid 
picture  has  a  greater  communicative  value 
than  the  Chinese  puzzle.  There  is  little 
enough  "  plot  "  in  such  a  perfect  little  piece 
of  hard  representation  as  "  The  End  of  the 
Passage,"  to  cite  again  only  the  most  sali- 
ent of  twenty  examples. 

But  I  am  speaking  of  our  author's  future, 
which  is  the  luxury  that  I  meant  to  forbid 
myself  —  precisely  because  the  subject  is 
so  tempting.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
(for  the  prophet)  so  charming  as  to  proph- 
esy, and  as  there  is  nothing  so  inconclusive 
the  tendency  should  be  repressed  in  pro- 
portion as  the  opportunity  is  good.  There 
is  a  certain  want  of  courtesy  to  a  peculiarly 
contemporaneous  present  even  in  speculat- 
ing, with  a  dozen  differential  precautions, 
on  the  question  of  what  will  become  in  the 
later  hours  of  the  day  of  a  talent  that  has 
got  up  so  early.  Mr.  Kipling's  actual  per- 
formance is  like  a  tremendous  walk  before 
breakfast,  making  one  welcome  the  idea 
of  the  meal,  but  consider  with  some  alarm 


20  Introduction 

the  hours  still  to  be  traversed.  Yet  if  his 
breakfast  is  all  to  come,  the  indications  are 
that  he  will  be  more  active  than  ever  after 
he  has  had  it.  Among  these  indications 
are  the  unflagging  character  of  his  pace 
and  the  excellent  form,  as  they  say  in  ath- 
letic circles,  in  which  he  gets  over  the 
ground.  We  don't  detect  him  stumbling; 
on  the  contrary,  he  steps  out  quite  as 
briskly  as  at  first,  and  still  more  firmly. 
There  is  something  zealous  and  craftsman- 
like in  him  which  shows  that  he  feels  both 
joy  and  responsibility.  A  whimsical,  wan- 
ton reader,  haunted  by  a  recollection  of  all 
the  good  things  he  has  seen  spoiled;  by  a 
sense  of  the  miserable,  or,  at  any  rate,  the 
inferior,  in  so  many  continuations  and  end- 
ings, is  almost  capable  of  perverting  poetic 
justice  to  the  idea  that  it  would  be  even 
positively  well  for  so  surprising  a  producer 
to  remain  simply  the  fortunate,  suggestive, 
unconfirmed  and  unqualified  representative 
of  what  he  has  actually  done.  We  can 
always  refer  to  that. 

Henry  James. 


BIMI 


The  orang-outang  in  the  big  iron  cage 
lashed  to  the  sheep-pen  began  the  discus- 
sion. The  night  was  stiflingly  hot,  and  as 
Hans  Breitmann  and  I  passed  him,  drag- 
ging our  bedding  to  the  fore-peak  of  the 
steamer,  he  roused  himself  and  chattered 
obscenely.  He  had  been  caught  some- 
where in  the  Malayan  Archipelago,  and 
was  going  to  England  to  be  exhibited  at 
a  shilling  a  head.  For  four  days  he  had 
struggled,  yelled,  and  wrenched  at  the 
heavy  iron  bars  of  his  prison  without  ceas- 
ing, and  had  nearly  slain  a  Lascar  incau- 
tious enough  to  come  within  reach  of  the 
great  hairy  paw. 

"  It  would  be  well  for  you,  mine  friend, 
if  you  was  a  liddle  seasick,"  said  Hans 
Breitmann,  pausing  by  the  cage.  "  You 
haf  too  much  Ego  in  your  Cosmos." 

The  orang-outang's  arm  slid  out  negli- 
gently from  between  the  bars.  Xo  one 
would  have  believed  that  it  would  make  a 
sudden    snake-like    rush    at    the    German's 


22  Mine  Own  People 

breast.  The  thin  silk  of  the  sleeping-suit 
tore  out:  Hans  stepped  back  unconcern- 
edly, to  pluck  a  banana  from  a  bunch  hang- 
ing close  to  one  of  the  boats. 

"  Too  much  Ego,''"  said  he,  peeling  the 
fruit  and  offering  it  to  the  caged  devil,  who 
was  rending  the  silk  to  tatters. 

Then  we  laid  out  our  bedding  in  the  bows, 
among  the  sleeping  Lascars,  to  catch  any 
breeze  that  the  pace  of  the  ship  might  give 
us.  The  sea  was  like  smoky  oil,  except 
where  it  turned  to  fire  under  our  forefoot 
and  whirled  back  into  the  dark  in  smears 
of  dull  flame.  There  was  a  thunder-storm 
some  miles  away:  we  could  see  the  glim- 
mer of  the  lightning.  The  ship's  cow,  dis- 
tressed by  the  heat  and  the  smell  of  the 
ape-beast  in  the  cage,  lowed  unhappily 
from  time  to  time  in  exactly  the  same  key 
as  the  lookout  man  at  the  bows  answered 
the  hourly  call  from  the  bridge.  The 
trampling  tune  of  the  engines  was  very  dis- 
tinct, and  the  jarring  of  the  ash-lift,  as  it 
was  tipped  into  the  sea,  hurt  the  procession 
of  hushed  noise.  Hans  lay  down  by  my 
side  and  lighted  a  good-night  cigar.  This 
was  naturally  the  beginning  of  conversa- 
tion. He  owned  a  voice  as  soothing  as  the 
wash  of  the  sea,  and  stores  of  experiences 
as  vast  as  the  sea  itself;  for  his  business  in 
life  was  to  wander  up  and  down  the  world, 
collecting  orchids  and  wild  beasts  and  eth- 


Bimi  23 

nological  specimens  for  German  and 
American  dealers.  I  watched  the  glowing 
end  of  his  cigar  wax  and  wane  in  the 
gloom,  as  the  sentences  rose  and  fell,  till 
I  was  nearly  asleep.  The  orang-outang, 
troubled  by  some  dream  of  the  forests  of 
his  freedom,  began  to  yell  like  a  soul  in 
purgatory,  and  to  wrench  madly  at  the  bars 
of  the  cage. 

"  If  he  was  out  now  dere  would  not  be 
much  of  us  left,  hereabouts,"  said  Hans 
lazily.  "  He  screams  good.  See,  now, 
how  I  shall  tame  him  when  he  stops 
himself." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  outcry,  and 
from  Hans'  mouth  came  an  imitation  of  a 
snake's  hiss,  so  perfect  that  I  almost  sprung 
to  my  feet.  The  sustained  murderous 
sound  ran  along  the  deck,  and  the  wrench- 
ing at  the  bars  ceased.  The  orang-outang 
was  quaking  in  an  ecstasy  of  pure  terror. 

4<  Dot  stop  him,"  said  Hans.  "  I  learned 
dot  trick  in  Mogoung  Tanjong  when  I  was 
collecting  liddle  monkeys  for  some  peoples 
in  Berlin.  Efery  one  in  der  world  is  afraid 
of  der  monkeys  —  except  der  snake.  So  I 
blay  snake  against  monkey,  and  he  keep 
quite  still.  Dere  was  too  much  Ego  in  his 
Cosmos.  Dot  is  der  soul-custom  of  mon- 
keys. Are  you  asleep,  or  will  you  listen, 
and  I  will  tell  a  dale  dot  you  shall  not 
pelief  ? " 


24  Mine  Own  People 

"  There's  no  tale  in  the  wide  world  that 
I  can't  believe,"  I  said. 

"  If    you    have    learned    pelief    you    haf 
learned  somedings.     Now  I  shall  try  your 
pelief.     Good!     When     I     was     collecting 
dose  liddle  monkeys  —  it  was  in  '79  or  '8o, 
und  I  was  in  der  islands  of  der  Archipelago 
—  over    dere    in    der    dark  " —  he    pointed 
southward    to    New    Guinea    generally  — 
"  Mein  Gott!     I  would  sooner  collect  life 
red  devils  than  liddle  monkeys.     When  dey 
do  not  bite  off  your  thumbs  dey  are  always 
dying     from     nostalgia  —  home-sick  —  for 
dey  haf  der  imperfect  soul,  which  is  mid- 
way   arrested    in    defelopment  —  und    too 
much  Ego.     I  was  dere  for  nearly  a  year, 
und  dere  I   found  a  man   dot  was   called 
Bertran.     He  was   a   Frenchman,   und  he 
was  a  goot  man  —  naturalist  to  the  bone. 
Dey  said  he  was  an  escaped  convict,  but 
he  was  a  naturalist,  und  dot  was  enough 
for  me.     He  would  call  all  her  life  beasts 
from  der  forest,  und  dey  would  come.     I 
said  he  was  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  in  a  new 
dransmigration  produced,  und  he  laughed 
und  said  he  haf  never  preach  to  der  fishes. 
He  sold  them  for  tripang  —  bcchc-de-mcr. 

"  Und  dot  man,  who  was  king  of  beasts- 
tamer  men,  he  had  in  der  house  shush  such 
anoder  as  dot  devil-animal  in  der  cage  — 
a  great  orang-outang  dot  thought  he  was 
a  man.     He  haf  found  him  when  he  was 


Bimi  25 

a  child  —  der  orang-outang  —  und  he  was 
child  and  brother  and  opera  comique  all 
round  to  Bertran.  He  had  his  room  in  dot 
house  —  not  a  cage,  but  a  room  —  mit  a 
bed  and  sheets,  and  he  would  go  to  bed  and 
get  up  in  der  morning  and  smoke  his  cigar 
und  eat  his  dinner  mit  Bertran,  und  walk 
mit  him  hand-in-hand,  which  was  most  hor- 
rible. Herr  Gott!  I  haf  seen  dot  beast 
throw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  laugh 
when  Bertran  haf  made  fun  of  me.  He 
was  not  a  beast;  he  was  a  man,  and  he 
talked  to  Bertran,  und  Bertran  compre- 
hended, for  I  have  seen  dem.  Und  he  was 
always  politeful  to  me  except  when  I  talk 
too  long  to  Bertran  und  say  noddings  at  all 
to  him.  Den  he  would  pull  me  away  — 
dis  great,  dark  devil,  mit  his  enormous 
paws  —  shush  as  if  I  was  a  child.  He  was 
not  a  beast,  he  was  a  man.  Dis  I  saw 
pefore  I  know  him  three  months,  und  Ber- 
tran he  haf  saw  the  same;  and  Bimi,  der 
orang-outang,  haf  understood  us  both,  mit 
his  cigar  between  his  big-dog  teeth  und  der 
blue  gum. 

"  I  was  dere  a  year,  dere  und  at  der  oder 
islands  —  somedimes  for  monkeys  and 
somedimes  for  butterflies  und  orchits. 
One  time  Bertran  say  to  me  dot  he  will  be 
married,  because  he  haf  found  a  girl  dot 
was  goot,  and  he  inquire  if  this  marrying 
idea  was  right.     I  would  not  say,  pecause  it 


26  Mine  Own  People 

was  not  me  dot  was  going  to  be  married. 
Den  he  go  off  courting  der  girl  —  she  was 
a  half-caste  French  girl  —  very  pretty. 
Haf  you  got  a  new  light  for  my  cigar? 
Oof!  Very  pretty.  Only  I  say:  'Haf 
you  thought  of  Bimi?  If  he  pulls  me  away 
when  I  talk  to  you,  what  will  he  do  to  your 
wife?  He  will  pull  her  in  pieces.  If  I  was 
you,  Bertran,  I  would  gif  my  wife  for  wed- 
ding present  der  stuff  figure  of  Bimi.'  By 
dot  time  I  had  learned  somedings  about  der 
monkey  peoples.  'Shoot  him?'  says  Ber- 
tran. '  He  is  your  beast,'  I  said;  '  if  he  was 
mine  he  would  be  shot  now.' 

"  Den  I  felt  at  der  back  of  my  neck  der 
fingers  of  Bimi.  Mein  Gott!  I  tell  you 
dot  he  talked  through  dose  fingers.  It  was 
der  deaf-and-dumb  alphabet  all  gomplete. 
He  slide  his  hairy  arm  round  my  neck,  and 
he  tilt  up  my  chin  und  look  into  my  face, 
shust  to  see  if  I  understood  his  talk  so  well 
as  he  understood  mine. 

'"See  now  dere! '  says  Bertran,  'und 
you  would  shoot  him  while  he  is  cuddling 
you?     Dot  is  der  Teuton  ingrate! ' 

"  But  I  knew  dot  I  had  made  Bimi  a  life's 
enemy,  pecause  his  fingers  haf  talk  murder 
through  the  back  of  my  neck.  Next  dime 
I  see  Bimi  dere  was  a  pistol  in  my  belt,  und 
he  touch  it  once,  and  I  open  der  breech  to 
show  him  it  was  loaded.     He  haf  seen  der 


Bimi  27 

liddle  monkeys  killed  in  der  woods,  and  he 
understood. 

"  So  Bertran  he  was  married,  and  he  for- 
got clean  about  Bimi  dot  was  skippin' 
alone  on  der  beach  mit  der  half  of  a  human 
soul  in  his  belly.  I  was  see  him  skip,  und 
he  took  a  big  bough  und  thrash  der  sand 
till  he  haf  made  a  great  hole  like  a  grave. 
So  I  says  to  Bertran:  'For  any  sakes,  kill 
Bimi.     He  is  mad  mit  der  jealousy.' 

"Bertran  haf  said:  'He  is  not  mad  at 
all.  He  haf  obey  and  love  my  wife,  und 
if  she  speaks  he  will  get  her  slippers,'  und 
he  looked  at  his  wife  across  der  room.  She 
was  a  very  pretty  girl. 

"  Den  I  said  to  him:  '  Dost  thou  pretend 
to  know  monkeys  und  dis  beast  dot  is  lash- 
ing himself  mad  upon  der  sands,  pecause 
you  do  not  talk  to  him?  Shoot  him  when 
he  comes  to  der  house,  for  he  haf  der  light 
in  his  eyes  dot  means  killing  —  und  kill- 
ing.' Bimi  come  to  der  house,  but  dere 
was  no  light  in  his  eyes.  It  was  all  put 
away,  cunning  —  so  cunning  —  und  he 
fetch  der  girl  her  slippers,  and  Bertran  turn 
to  me  und  say:  'Dost  thou  know  him  in 
nine  months  more  dan  I  haf  known  him  in 
twelve  years?  Shall  a  child  stab  his  fader? 
I  have  fed  him,  und  he  was  my  child.  Do 
not  speak  this  nonsense  to  my  wife  or  to 
me  any  more.' 

"  Dot    next    day    Bertran    came    to    my 


28  Mine  Own  People 

house  to  help  me  make  some  wood  cases 
for  der  specimens,  und  he  tell  me  dot  he 
haf  left  his  wife  a  liddle  while  mit  Bimi  in 
der  garden.  Den  I  finish  my  cases  quick, 
und  I  say:  'Let  us  go  to  your  house  und 
get  a  trink.'  He  laugh  und  say:  '  Come 
along,  dry  mans.' 

"  His  wife  was  not  in  der  garden,  und 
Bimi  did  not  come  when  Bertran  called. 
Und  his  wife  did  not  come  when  he  called, 
und  he  knocked  at  her  bedroom  door  und 
dot  was  shut  tight  —  locked.  Den  he  look 
at  me,  und  his  face  was  white.  I  broke 
down  der  door  mit  my  shoulder,  und  der 
thatch  of  der  roof  was  torn  into  a  great 
hole,  und  der  sun  came  in  upon  der  floor. 
Haf  you  ever  seen  paper  in  der  waste- 
basket,  or  cards  at  whist  on  der  table  scat- 
tered? Dere  was  no  wife  dot  could  be 
seen.  I  tell  you  dere  was  noddings  in  dot 
room  dot  might  be  a  woman.  Dere  was 
stuff  on  der  floor,  und  dot  was  all.  I 
looked  at  dese  things  und  I  was  very  sick; 
but  Bertran  looked  a  liddle  longer  at  what 
was  upon  the  floor  und  der  walls,  und  der 
hole  in  der  thatch.  Den  he  pegan  to  laugh, 
soft  and  low,  und  I  knew  und  thank  Gott 
dot  he  was  mad.  He  nefer  cried,  he  nefer 
prayed.  He  stood  still  in  der  doorway  und 
laugh  to  himself.  Den  he  said:  'She  haf 
locked  herself  in  dis  room,  and  he  haf  torn 
up  der  thatch.     Fi  done.     Dot  is  so.     We 


Bimi  29 

will  mend  der  thatch  und  wait  for  Bimi. 
He  will  surely  come.' 

"  I  tell  you  we  waited  ten  days  in  dot 
house,  after  der  room  was  made  into  a 
room  again,  and  once  or  twice  we  saw  Bimi 
comin'  a  liddle  way  from  der  woods.  He 
was  afraid  pecause  he  haf  done  wrong. 
Bertran  called  him  when  he  was  come  to 
look  on  the  tenth  day,  und  Bimi  come  skip- 
ping along  der  beach  und  making  noises, 
mit  a  long  piece  of  black  hair  in  his  hands. 
Den  Bertran  laugh  and  say,  '  Fi  done! ' 
shust  as  if  it  was  a  glass  broken  upon  der 
table;  und  Bimi  come  nearer,  und  Bertran 
was  honey-sweet  in  his  voice  and  laughed 
to  himself.  For  three  days  he  made  love 
to  Bimi,  pecause  Bimi  would  not  let  him- 
self be  touched.  Den  Bimi  come  to  dinner 
at  der  same  table  mit  us,  und  der  hair  on 
his  hands  was  all  black  und  thick  mit  — 
mit  what  had  dried  on  his  hands.  Bertran 
gave  him  sangaree  till  Bimi  was  drunk  and 
stupid,  und  den 

Hans  paused  to  puff  at  his  cigar. 

"And  then?"   said  I. 

"  Und  den  Bertran  kill  him  with  his 
hands,  und  I  go  for  a  walk  upon  der  beach. 
It  was  Bertran's  own  piziness.  When  I 
come  back  der  ape  he  was  dead,  und  Ber- 
tran he  was  dying  abofe  him;  but  still  he 
laughed  a  liddle  und  low,  and  he  was  quite 
content.     Now  vou  know  der  formula  of 


30  Mine  Own  People 

der  strength  of  der  orang-outang  —  it  is 
more  as  seven  to  one  in  relation  to  man. 
But  Bertran,  he  haf  killed  Bimi  mit  sooch 
dings  as  Gott  gif  him.  Dot  was  der 
mericle." 

The  infernal  clamor  in  the  cage  recom- 
menced. "Aha!  Dot  friend  of  ours  haf 
still  too  much  Ego  in  his  Cosmos.  Be 
quiet,  thou!  " 

Hans  hissed  long  and  venomously.  We 
could  hear  the  great  beast  quaking  in  his 
cage. 

"  But  why  in  the  world  didn't  you  help 
Bertran  instead  of  letting  him  be  killed?" 
I  asked. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Hans,  composedly 
stretching  himself  to  slumber,  "  it  was  not 
nice  even  to  mineself  dot  I  should  lif  after 
I  had  seen  dot  room  wit  der  hole  in  der 
thatch.  Und  Bertran,  he  was  her  husband. 
Goot-night,  und  sleep  well." 


NAMGAY  DOOLA 


Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  who 
lived  on  the  road  to  Thibet,  very  many 
miles  in  the  Himalaya  Mountains.  His 
kingdom  was  11,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
exactly  four  miles  square,  but  most  of  the 
miles  stood  on  end,  owing  to  the  nature  of 
the  country.  His  revenues  were  rather  less 
than  £400  yearly,  and  they  were  expended 
on  the  maintenance  of  one  elephant  and  a 
standing  army  of  five  men.  He  was  trib- 
utary to  the  Indian  government,  who 
allowed  him  certain  sums  for  keeping  a  sec- 
tion of  the  Himalaya-Thibet  road  in  repair. 
He  further  increased  his  revenues  by  sell- 
ing timber  to  the  railway  companies,  for 
he  would  cut  the  great  deodar  trees  in  his 
own  forest  and  they  fell  thundering  into 
the  Sutlej  River  and  were  swept  down  to 
the  Plains,  300  miles  away,  and  became 
railway  ties.  Now  and  again  this  king, 
whose  name  does  not  matter,  would  mount 
a  ring-streaked  horse  and  ride  scores  of 
miles  to  Simlatown  to  confer  with  the  lieu- 

31 


32  Mine  Own  People 

tenant-governor  on  matters  of  state,  or 
assure  the  viceroy  that  his  sword  was  at  the 
service  of  the  queen-empress.  Then  the 
viceroy  would  cause  a  ruffle  of  drums  to  be 
sounded  and  the  ring-streaked  horse  and 
the  cavalry  of  the  state  —  two  men  in  tat- 
ters —  and  the  herald  who  bore  the  Silver 
Stick  before  the  king  would  trot  back  to 
their  own  place,  which  was  between  the 
tail  of  a  heaven-climbing  glacier  and  a  dark 
birch  forest. 

Now,  from  such  a  king,  always  remem- 
bering that  he  possessed  one  veritable  ele- 
phant and  could  count  his  descent  for  1,200 
years,  I  expected,  when  it  was  my  fate  to 
wander  through  his  dominions,  no  more 
than  mere  license  to  live. 

The  night  had  closed  in  rain,  and  rolling 
clouds  blotted  out  the  lights  of  the  villages 
in  the  valley.  Forty  miles  away,  un- 
touched by  cloud  or  storm,  the  white  shoul- 
der of  Dongo  Pa  —  the  Mountain  of  the 
Council  of  the  Gods  —  upheld  the  evening 
star.  The  monkeys  sung  sorrowfully  to 
each  other  as  they  hunted  for  dry  roots  in 
the  fern-draped  trees,  and  the  last  puff  of 
the  day-wind  brought  from  the  unseen  vil- 
lages the  scent  of  damp  wood  smoke,  hot 
cakes,  dripping  undergrowth,  and  rotting 
pine-cones.  That  smell  is  the  true  smell  of 
the  Himalayas,  and  if  it  once  gets  into  the 
blood  of  a  man  he  will,  at  the  last,  forget- 


Namgay  Doola  33 

ting  everything  else,  return  to  the  Hills 
to  die.  The  clouds  closed  and  the  smell 
went  away,  and  there  remained  nothing  in 
all  the  world  except  chilling  white  mists 
and  the  boom  of  the  Sutlej  River. 

A  fat-tailed  sheep,  who  did  not  want  to 
die,  bleated  lamentably  at  my  tent-door. 
He  was  scuffling  with  the  prime  minister 
and  the  director-general  of  public  educa- 
tion, and  he  was  a  royal  gift  to  me  and  my 
camp  servants.  I  expressed  my  thanks 
suitably  and  inquired  if  I  might  have  audi- 
ence of  the  king.  The  prime  minister  re- 
adjusted his  turban  —  it  had  fallen  off  in 
the  struggle  —  and  assured  me  that  the 
king  would  be  very  pleased  to  see  me. 
Therefore  I  dispatched  two  bottles  as  a 
foretaste,  and  when  the  sheep  had  entered 
upon  another  incarnation,  climbed  up  to 
the  king's  palace  through  the  wet.  He  had 
sent  his  army  to  escort  me,  but  it  stayed 
to  talk  with  my  cook.  Soldiers  are  very 
much  alike  all  the  world  over. 

The  palace  was  a  four-roomed,  white- 
washed mud-and-timber  house,  the  finest 
in  all  the  Hills  for  a  day's  journey.  The 
king  was  dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  jacket, 
white  muslin  trousers,  and  a  saffron-yellow 
turban  of  price.  He  gave  me  audience  in 
a  little  carpeted  room  opening  off  the  pal- 
ace court-yard,  which  was  occupied  by  the 
elephant   of   state.     The   great   beast   was 


34  Mine  Own  People 

sheeted  and  anchored  from  trunk  to  tail, 
and  the  curve  of  his  back  stood  out  against 
the  sky  line. 

The  prime  minister  and  the  director-gen- 
eral of  public  instruction  were  present  to 
introduce  me;  but  all  the  court  had  been 
dismissed  lest  the  two  bottles  aforesaid 
should  corrupt  their  morals.  The  king 
cast  a  wreath  of  heavy,  scented  flowers 
round  my  neck  as  I  bowed,  and  inquired 
how  my  honored  presence  had  the  felicity 
to  be.  I  said  that  through  seeing  his  au- 
spicious countenance  the  mists  of  the  night 
had  turned  into  sunshine,  and  that  by  rea- 
son of  his  beneficent  sheep  his  good  deeds 
would  be  remembered  by  the  gods.  He 
said  that  since  I  had  set  my  magnificent 
foot  in  his  kingdom  the  crops  would  prob- 
ably yield  seventy  per  cent,  more  than  the 
average.  I  said  that  the  fame  of  the  king 
had  reached  to  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth,  and  that  the  nations  gnashed  their 
teeth  when  they  heard  daily  of  the  glory 
of  his  realm  and  the  wisdom  of  his  moon- 
like prime  minister  and  lotus-eyed  director- 
general  of  public  education. 

Then  we  sat  down  on  clean  white  cush- 
ions, and  I  was  at  the  king's  right  hand. 
Three  minutes  later  he  was  telling  me  that 
the  condition  of  the  maize  crop  was  some- 
thing disgraceful,  and  that  the  railway 
companies  would  not  pay  him  enough  for 


Namgay  Doola  35 

his  timber.  The  talk  shifted  to  and  fro 
with  the  bottles.  We  discussed  very  many 
quaint  things,  and  the  king  became  confi- 
dential on  the  subject  of  government  gen- 
erally. Most  of  all  he  dwelt  on  the  short- 
comings of  one  of  his  subjects,  who,  from 
what  I  could  gather,  had  been  paralyzing 
the  executive. 

"  In  the  old  days,"  said  the  king,  "  I 
could  have  ordered  the  elephant  yonder  to 
trample  him  to  death.  Now  I  must  e'en 
send  him  seventy  miles  across  the  hills  to 
be  tried,  and  his  keep  for  that  time  would 
be  upon  the  state.  And  the  elephant  eats 
everything." 

"  What  be  the  man's  crimes,  Rajah 
Sahib?"  said  I. 

"  Firstly,  he  is  an  '  outlander,'  and  no 
man  of  mine  own  people.  Secondly,  since 
of  my  favor  I  gave  him  land  upon  his  com- 
ing, he  refuses  to  pay  revenue.  Am  I  not 
the  lord  of  the  earth,  above  and  below  — 
entitled  by  right  and  custom  to  one-eighth 
of  the  crop?  Yet  this  devil,  establishing 
himself,  refuses  to  pay  a  single  tax  .  .  . 
and  he  brings  a  poisonous  spawn  of 
babies." 

"  Cast  him  into  jail,"  I  said. 

"  Sahib,"  the  king  answered,  shifting  a 
little  on  the  cushions,  "  once  and  only  once 
in  these  forty  years  sickness  came  upon 
me  so  that  I  was  not  able  to  go  abroad. 


36  Mine  Own  People 

In  that  hour  I  made  a  vow  to  my  God  that  I 
would  never  again  cut  man  or  woman  from 
the  light  of  the  sun  and  the  air  of  God,  for 
I  perceived  the  nature  of  the  punishment. 
How  can  I  break  my  vow?  Were  it  only 
the  lopping  off  of  a  hand  or  a  foot,  I  should 
not  delay.  But  even  that  is  impossible  now 
that  the  English  have  rule.  One  or  an- 
other of  my  people  " —  he  looked  obliquely 
at  the  director-general  of  public  education 
— "  would  at  once  write  a  letter  to  the  vice- 
roy, and  perhaps  I  should  be  deprived  of 
that  ruffle  of  drums." 

He  unscrewed  the  mouthpiece  of  his  sil- 
ver water-pipe,  fitted  a  plain  amber  one, 
and  passed  the  pipe  to  me.  "  Not  content 
with  refusing  revenue,"  he  continued, 
"  this  outlander  refuses  also  to  beegar " 
(this  is  the  corvee  or  forced  labor  on  the 
roads),  "  and  stirs  my  people  up  to  the  like 
treason.  Yet  he  is,  if  so  he  wills,  an  expert 
log-snatcher.  There  is  none  better  or 
bolder  among  my  people  to  clear  a  block 
of  the  river  when  the  logs  stick  fast." 

"  But  he  worships  strange  gods,"  said 
the  prime  minister,   deferentially. 

"  For  that  I  have  no  concern,"  said  the 
king,  who  was  as  tolerant  as  Akbar  in  mat- 
ters of  belief.  "  To  each  man  his  own  god, 
and  the  fire  or  Mother  Earth  for  us  all  at 
the  last.  It  is  the  rebellion  that  offends 
me. 


Namgay  Doola  37 

"  The  king  has  an  army,"  I  suggested. 
"  Has  not  the  king  burned  the  man's  house, 
and  left  him  naked  to  the  night  dews  ?  " 

"  Nay.  A  hut  is  a  hut,  and  it  holds  the 
life  of  a  man.  But  once  I  sent  my  army 
against  him  when  his  excuses  became 
wearisome.  Of  their  heads  he  brake  three 
across  the  top  with  a  stick.  The  other 
two  men  ran  away.  Also  the  guns  would 
not  shoot." 

I  had  seen  the  equipment  of  the  infantry. 
One-third  of  it  was  an  old  muzzle-loading 
fowling-piece  with  ragged  rust  holes  where 
the  nipples  should  have  been;  one-third  a 
wire-bound  matchlock  with  a  worm-eaten 
stock,  and  one-third  a  four-bore  flint  duck 
gun,  without  a  flint. 

"  But  it  is  to  be  remembered,"  said  the 
king,  reaching  out  for  the  bottle,  "  that  he 
is  a  very  expert  log-snatcher  and  a  man  of 
a  merry  face.  What  shall  I  do  to  him, 
sahib?  " 

This  was  interesting.  The  timid  hill- 
folk  would  as  soon  have  refused  taxes  to 
their  king  as  offerings  to  their  gods.  The 
rebel  must  be  a  man  of  character. 

"  If  it  be  the  king's  permission,"  I  said, 
"  I  will  not  strike  my  tents  till  the  third 
day,  and  I  will  see  this  man.  The  mercy 
of  the  king  is  godlike,  and  rebellion  is  like 
unto  the  sin  of  witchcraft.  Moreover,  both 
the  bottles,  and  another,  be  empty." 


38  Mine  Own  People 

"  You  have  my  leave  to  go,"  said  the 
king. 

Xext  morning  the  crier  went  through  the 
state  proclaiming  that  there  was  a  log-jam 
on  the  river  and  that  it  behooved  all  loyal 
subjects  to  clear  it.  The  people  poured 
down  from  their  villages  to  the  moist, 
warm  valley  of  poppy  fields,  and  the  king 
and  I  went  with  them. 

Hundreds  of  dressed  deodar  logs  had 
caught  on  a  snag  of  rock,  and  the  river 
was  bringing  down  more  logs  every  min- 
ute to  complete  the  blockade.  The  water 
snarled  and  wrenched  and  worried  at  the 
timber,  while  the  population  of  the  state 
prodded  at  the  nearest  logs  with  poles,  in 
the  hope  of  easing  the  pressure.  Then 
there  went  up  a  shout  of  "  Xamgay  Doola! 
Xamgay  Doola!  "  and  a  large,  red-haired 
villager  hurried  up,  stripping  off  his  clothes 
as  he  ran. 

44  That  is  he.  That  is  the  rebel!"  said 
the  king.     "  Now  will  the  dam  be  cleared." 

"  But  why  has  he  red  hair? "  I  asked, 
since  red  hair  among  hill-folk  is  as  uncom- 
mon as  blue  or  green. 

"  He  is  an  outlander,"  said  the  king. 
"Well  done!     Oh,  well  done!" 

Namgay  Doola  had  scrambled  on  the 
jam  and  was  clawing  out  the  butt  of  a  log 
with  a  rude  sort  of  a  boat-hook.  It  slid 
forward  slowly,  as  an  alligator  moves,  and 


Namgay  Doola  39 

three  or  four  others  followed  it.  The  green 
water  spouted  through  the  gaps.  Then  the 
villagers  howled  and  shouted  and  leaped 
among  the  logs,  pulling  and  pushing  the 
obstinate  timber,  and  the  red  head  of  Nam- 
gay Doola  was  chief  among  them  all.  The 
logs  swayed  and  chafed  and  groaned  as 
fresh  consignments  from  up-stream  bat- 
tered the  now  weakening  dam.  It  gave 
way  at  last  in  a  smother  of  foam,  racing 
butts,  bobbing  black  heads,  and  a  confusion 
indescribable,  as  the  river  tossed  every- 
thing before  it.  I  saw  the  red  head  go 
down  with  the  last  remnants  of  the  jam 
and  disappear  between  the  great  grinding 
tree  trunks.  It  rose  close  to  the  bank,  and 
blowing  like  a  grampus,  Namgay  Doola 
wiped  the  water  out  of  his  eyes  and  made 
obeisance  to  the  king. 

I  had  time  to  observe  the  man  closely. 
The  virulent  redness  of  his  shock  head  and 
beard  was  most  startling,  and  in  the  thicket 
of  hair  twinkled  above  high  cheek-bones 
two  very  merry  blue  eyes.  He  was  indeed 
an  outlander,  but  yet  a  Thibetan  in  langu- 
age, habit  and  attire.  He  spoke  the  Lepcha 
dialect  with  an  indescribable  softening  of 
the  gutturals.  It  was  not  so  much  a  lisp 
as  an  accent. 

"Whence  comest  thou?"  I  asked, 
wondering. 

"  From  Thibet."     He  pointed  across  the 


40  Mine  Own  People 

hills  and  grinned.  That  grin  went  straight 
to  my  heart.  Mechanically  I  held  out  my 
hand,  and  Namgay  Doola  took  it.  No 
pure  Thibetan  would  have  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  gestrue.  He  went  away 
meaning  of  the  gesture.  He  went  away 
to  look  for  his  clothes,  and  as  he  climbed 
back  to  his  village,  I  heard  a  joyous  yell 
that  seemed  unaccountably  familiar.  It 
was  the  whooping  of  Namgay  Doola. 

"  You  see  now,"  said  the  king,  "  why  I 
would  not  kill  him.  He  is  a  bold  man 
among  my  logs,  but,"  and  he  shook  his 
head  like  a  schoolmaster,  "  I  know  that 
before  long  there  will  be  complaints  of  him 
in  the  court.  Let  us  return  to  the  palace 
and  do  justice." 

It  was  that  king's  custom  to  judge  his 
subjects  every  day  between  eleven  and 
three  o'clock.  I  heard  him  do  justice  equi- 
tably on  weighty  matters  of  trespass,  slan- 
der, and  a  little  wife-stealing.  Then  his 
brow  clouded  and  he  summoned  me. 

"  Again  it  is  Xamgay  Doola,"  he  said, 
despairingly.  "  Not  content  with  refusing 
revenue  on  his  own  part,  he  has  bound  half 
his  village  by  an  oath  to  the  like  treason. 
Never  before  has  such  a  thing  befallen  me! 
Nor  are  my  taxes  heavy." 

A  rabbit-faced  villager,  with  a  blush-rose 
stuck  behind  his  ear,  advanced  trembling. 
He    had   been    in    Namgay    Doola's    con- 


Namgay  Doola  41 

spiracy,  but  had  told  everything  and  hoped 
for  the  king's  favor. 

"  Oh,  king!  "  said  I,  "  if  it  be  the  king's 
will,  let  this  matter  stand  over  till  the  morn- 
ing. Only  the  gods  can  do  right  in  a 
hurry,  and  it  may  be  that  yonder  villager 
has  lied." 

"  Nay,  for  I  know  the  nature  of  Namgay 
Doola;  but  since  a  guest  asks,  let  the  mat- 
ter remain.  Wilt  thou,  for  my  sake,  speak 
harshly  to  this  red-headed  outlander?  He 
may  listen  to  thee." 

I  made  an  attempt  that  very  evening,  but 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  keep  my 
countenance.  Namgay  Doola  grinned  so 
persuasively  and  began  to  tell  me  about  a 
big  brown  bear  in  a  poppy  field  by  the 
river.  Would  I  care  to  shoot  that  bear? 
I  spoke  austerely  on  the  sin  of  detected 
conspiracy  and  the  certainty  of  punish- 
ment. Namgay  Doola's  face  clouded  for  a 
moment.  Shortly  afterward  he  withdrew 
from  my  tent,  and  I  heard  him  singing 
softly  among  the  pines.  The  words  were 
unintelligible  to  me,  but  the  tune,  like  his 
liquid,  insinuating  speech,  seemed  the 
ghost  of  something  strangely  familiar. 

"  Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 
To  weeree  ala  gee," 

crooned  Namgay  Doola  again  and  again, 
and  I  racked  my  brain  for  that  lost  tune. 


42  Mine  Own  People 

It  was  not  till  after  dinner  that  I  discovered 
some  one  had  cut  a  square  foot  of  velvet 
from  the  center  of  my  best  camera  cloth. 
This  made  me  so  angry  that  I  wandered 
down  the  valley  in  the  hope  of  meeting  the 
big  brown  bear.  I  could  hear  him  grunt- 
ing like  a  discontented  pig  in  the  poppy 
field  as  I  waited  shoulder  deep  in  the  dew- 
dripping  Indian  corn  to  catch  him  after  his 
meal.  The  moon  was  at  full  and  drew  out 
the  scent  of  the  tasseled  crop.  Then  I 
heard  the  anguished  bellow  of  a  Himalayan 
cow  —  one  of  the  little  black  crummies  no 
bigger  than  Newfoundland  dogs.  Two 
shadows  that  looked  like  a  bear  and  her 
cub  hurried  past  me.  I  was  in  the  act  of 
firing  when  I  saw  that  each  bore  a  brilliant 
red  head.  The  lesser  animal  was  trailing 
something  rope-like  that  left  a  dark  track 
on  the  path.  They  were  within  six  feet 
of  me,  and  the  shadow  of  the  moonlight  lay 
velvet-black  on  their  faces.  Velvet-black 
was  exactly  the  word,  for  by  all  the  powers 
of  moonlight  they  were  masked  in  the  vel- 
vet of  my  camera-cloth.  I  marveled,  and 
went  to  bed. 

Next  morning  the  kingdom  was  in  an 
uproar.  Namgay  Doola,  men  said,  had- 
gone  forth  in  the  night  and  with  a  sharp 
knife  had  cut  off  the  tail  of  a  cow  belong- 
ing to  the  rabbit-faced  villager  who  had 
betrayed  him.     It  was   sacrilege  unspeak- 


Namgay  Doola  43 

able  against  the  holy  cow!  The  state 
desired  his  blood,  but  he  had  retreated  into 
his  hut,  barricaded  the  doors  and  windows 
with  big  stones,  and  defied  the  world. 

The  king  and  I  and  the  populace  ap- 
proached the  hut  cautiously.  There  was 
no  hope  of  capturing  our  man  without  loss 
of  life,  for  from  a  hole  in  the  wall  projected 
the  muzzle  of  an  extremely  well-cared-for 
gun  —  the  only  gun  in  the  state  that  could 
shoot.  Namgay  Doola  had  narrowly 
missed  a  villager  just  before  we  came  up. 

The  standing  army  stood. 

It  could  do  no  more,  for  when  it  ad- 
vanced pieces  of  sharp  shale  flew  from  the 
windows.  To  these  were  added  from  time 
to  time  showers  of  scalding  water.  We 
saw  red  heads  bobbing  up  and  down 
within.  The  family  of  Namgay  Doola 
were  aiding  their  sire.  Blood-curdling 
yells  of  defiance  were  the  only  answer  to 
our  prayers. 

"  Never,"  said  the  king,  puffing,  "  has 
such  a  thing  befallen  my  state.  Next  year 
I  will  certainly  buy  a  little  cannon."  He 
looked  at  me  imploringly. 

"  Is  there  any  priest  in  the  kingdom  to 
whom  he  will  listen?"  said  I,  for  a  light 
was  beginning  to  break  upon  me. 

"  He  worships  his  own  god,"  said  the 
prime  minister.  "  We  can  but  starve  him 
out." 


44  Mine  Own  People 

"  Let  the  white  man  approach,"  said 
Namgay  Doola  from  within.  "  All  others 
I  will  kill.     Send  me  the  white  man." 

The  door  was  thrown  open  and  I  entered 
the  smoky  interior  of  a  Thibetan  hut  cram- 
med with  children.  And  every  child  had 
flaming  red  hair.  A  fresh-gathered  cow's 
tail  lay  on  the  floor,  and  by  its  side  two 
pieces  of  black  velvet  —  my  black  velvet  — 
rudely  hacked  into  the  semblance  of  masks. 

"  And  what  is  this  shame,  Namgay 
Doola?"  I  asked. 

He  grinned  more  charmingly  than  ever. 
"  There  is  no  shame,"  said  he.  "  I  did  but 
cut  off  the  tail  of  that  man's  cow.  He  be- 
trayed me.  I  was  minded  to  shoot  him, 
sahib,  but  not  to  death.  Indeed,  not  to 
death;  only  in  the  legs." 

"  And  why  at  all,  since  it  is  the  custom 
to  pay  revenue  to  the  king?     Why  at  all? " 

"  By  the  god  of  my  father,  I  can  not  tell," 
said  Namgay  Doola. 

"And  who  was  thy  father?" 

"  The  same  that  had  this  gun."  He 
showed  me  his  weapon,  a  Tower  musket, 
bearing  date  1832  and  the  stamp  of  the 
Honorable  East  India  Company. 

"And  thy  father's  name?"  said  I. 

"  Timlay  Doola,"  said  he.  "  At  the  first, 
I  being  then  a  little  child,  it  is  in  my  mind 
that  he  wore  a  red  coat." 


Namgay  Doola  45 

"  Of  that  I  have  no  doubt ;  but  repeat 
the  name  of  thy  father  twice  or  thrice." 

He  obeyed,  and  I  understood  whence  the 
puzzling  accent  in  his  speech  came. 
"  Thimla  Dhula!  "  said  he  excitedly.  "  To 
this  hour  I  worship  his  god." 

"May  I  see  that  god?" 

"  In  a  little  while  —  at  twilight  time." 

"  Rememberest  thou  aught  of  thy  father's 
speech  ? " 

"  It  is  long  ago.  But  there  was  one 
word  which  he  said  often.  Thus,  '  'Shun!  ' 
Then  I  and  my  brethren  stood  upon  our 
feet,  our  hands  to  our  sides,  thus." 

"  Even  so.     And  what  was  thy  mother?  " 

"A  woman  of  the  Hills.  We  be  Lep- 
chas  of  Darjiling,  but  me  they  call  an  out- 
iander  because  my  hair  is  as  thou  seest." 

The  Thibetan  woman,  his  wife,  touched 
him  on  the  arm  gently.  The  long  parley 
outside  the  fort  had  lasted  far  into  the  day. 
It  was  now  close  upon  twilight  —  the  hour 
of  the  Angelus.  Very  solemnly  the  red- 
headed brats  rose  from  the  floor  and 
formed  a  semicircle.  Namgay  Doola  laid 
his  gun  aside,  lighted  a  little  oil-lamp,  and 
set  it  before  a  recess  in  the  wall.  Pulling 
back  a  whisp  of  dirty  cloth,  he  revealed  a 
worn  brass  crucifix  leaning  against  the  hel- 
met badge  of  a  long-forgotten  East  India 
Company's  regiment.  "  Thus  did  my 
father,"  he  said,  crossing  himself  clumsily. 


46  Mine  Own  People 

The  wife  and  children  followed  suit.  Then, 
all  together,  they  struck  up  the  wailing 
chant  that  I  heard  on  the  hill-side: 

"  Dir  hane  mard-i-yemen  dir 
To  weeree  ala  gee." 

I  was  puzzled  no  longer.  Again  and 
again  they  sung,  as  if  their  hearts  would 
break,  their  version  of  the  chorus  of  "  The 
Wearing  of  the  Green": 

"  They're  hanging  men  and  women,  too, 
For  the  wearing  of  the  green." 

A  diabolical  inspiration  came  to  me. 
One  of  the  brats,  a  boy  about  eight  years 
old  —  could  he  have  been  in  the  fields  last 
night?  —  was  watching  me  as  he  sung.  I 
pulled  out  a  rupee,  held  the  coin  between 
finger  and  thumb,  and  looked  —  only 
looked  —  at  the  gun  leaning  against  the 
wall.  A  grin  of  brilliant  and  perfect  com- 
prehension overspread  his  porringer-like 
face.  Never  for  an  instant  stopping  the 
song,  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  money, 
and  then  slid  the  gun  to  my  hand.  I  might 
have  shot  Namgay  Doola  dead  as  he 
chanted,  but  I  was  satisfied.  The  inevi- 
table blood-instinct  held  true.  Namgay 
Doola  drew  the  curtain  across  the  recess. 
Angelus  was  over. 

"  Thus  my  father  sung.  There  was 
much  more,  but  I  have  forgotten,  and  I  do 
not  know  the  purport  of  even  these  words, 


Namgay  Doola  47 

but  it  may  be  that  the  god  will  understand. 
I  am  not  of  this  people,  and  I  will  not  pay 
revenue." 

"And  why?" 

Again  that  soul-compelling  grin.  "  What 
occupation  would  be  to  me  between  crop 
and  crop?  It  is  better  than  scaring  bears. 
But  these  people  do  not  understand." 

He  picked  the  masks  off  the  floor  and 
looked  in  my  face  as  simply  as  a  child. 

"  By  what  road  didst  thou  attain  knowl- 
edge to  'make  those  deviltries?"  I  said, 
pointing. 

"  I  can  not  tell.  I  am  but  a  Lepcha  of 
Darjiling,  and  yet  the  stuff " 

"  Which  thou  hast  stolen,"  said  I. 

"Nay,  surely.  Did  I  steal?  I  desired 
it  so.  The  stuff  —  the  stuff.  What  else 
should  I  have  done  with  the  stuff?  "  He 
twisted  the  velvet  between  his  fingers. 

"  But  the  sin  of  maiming  the  cow  —  con- 
sider that." 

"Oh,  sahib,  the  man  betrayed  me;  the 
heifer's  tail  waved  in  the  moonlight,  and  I 
had  my  knife.  What  else  should  I  have 
done?  The  tail  came  off  ere  I  was  aware. 
Sahib,  thou  knowest  more  than  I." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  I.  "  Stay  within 
the  door.  I  go  to  speak  to  the  king." 
The  population  of  the  state  were  ranged  on 
the  hill-side.     I  went  forth  and  spoke. 

"  Oh,  king,"  said  I,  "  touching  this  man, 


48  Mine  Own  People 

there  be  two  courses  open  to  thy  wisdom. 
Thou  canst  either  hang-  him  from  a  tree  — 
he  and  his  brood  —  till  there  remains  no 
hair  that  is  red  within  thy  land." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  king.  "  Why  should  I 
hurt  the  little  children?" 

They  had  poured  out  of  the  hut  and 
were  making  plump  obeisances  to  every- 
body. Namgay  Doola  waited  at  the  door 
with  his  gun  across  his  arm. 

"  Or  thou  canst,  discarding  their  impiety 
of  the  cow-maiming,  raise  him  to  honor  in 
thy  army.  He  comes  of  a  race  that  will 
not  pay  revenue.  A  red  flame  is  in  his 
blood  which  comes  out  at  the  top  of  his 
head  in  that  glowing  hair.  Make  him  chief 
of  thy  army.  Give  him  honor  as  may  be- 
fall and  full  allowance  of  work,  but  look 
to  it,  oh,  king,  that  neither  he  nor  his  hold 
a  foot  of  earth  from  thee  henceforward. 
Feed  him  with  words  and  favor,  and  also 
liquor  from  certain  bottles  that  thou  know- 
est  of,  and  he  will  be  a  bulwark  of  defense. 
But  deny  him  even  a  tuftlet  of  grass  for 
his  own.  This  is  the  nature  that  God  has 
given  him.  Moreover,  he  has  breth- 
ren   " 

The  state  groaned  unanimously. 

"  But  if  his  brethren  come  they  will 
surely  light  with  each  other  till  they  die; 
or  else  the  one  will  always  give  information 


Namgay  Doola  49 

concerning  the  other.  Shall  he  be  of  thy 
army,   oh,   king?     Choose." 

The  king  bowed  his  head,  and  I  said: 
"  Come  forth,  Namgay  Doola,  and  com- 
mand the  king's  army.  Thy  name  shall  no 
more  be  Namgay  in  the  mouths  of  men, 
but  Patsay  Doola,  for,  as  thou  hast  truly 
said,  I  know.'' 

Then  Namgay  Doola,  new-christened 
Patsay  Doola,  son  of  Timlay  Doola  — 
which  is  Tim  Doolan — clasped  the  king's 
feet,  cuffed  the  standing  army,  and  hurried 
in  an  agony  of  contrition  from  temple  to 
temple  making  offerings  for  the  sin  of  the 
cattle-maiming. 

And  the  king  was  so  pleased  with  my 
perspicacity  that  he  offered  to  sell  me  a 
village  for  £20  sterling.  But  I  buy  no 
village  in  the  Himalayas  so  long  as  one 
red  head  flares  between  the  tail  of  the 
heaven-climbing  glacier  and  the  dark  birch 
forest. 

I  know  that  breed. 


THE  RECRUDESCENCE 
OF  IMRAY 


Imray  had  achieved  the  impossible. 
Without  warning,  for  no  conceivable  mo- 
tive, in  his  youth  and  at  the  threshold  of 
his  career  he  had  chosen  to  disappear  from 
the  world  —  which  is  to  say,  the  little  In- 
dian station  where  he  lived.  Upon  a  day 
he  was  alive,  well,  happy,  and  in  great  evi- 
dence at  his  club,  among  the  billiard-tables. 
Upon  a  morning  he  was  not,  and  no  man- 
ner of  search  could  make  sure  where  he 
might  be.  He  had  stepped  out  of  his 
place;  he  had  not  appeared  at  his  office  at 
the  proper  time,  and  his  dog-cart  was  not 
upon  the  public  roads.  For  these  reasons 
and  because  he  was  hampering  in  a  micro- 
scopical degree  the  administration  of  the 
Indian  Empire,  the  Indian  Empire  paused 
for  one  microscopical  moment  to  make  in- 
quiry into  the  fate  of  Imray.  Ponds  were 
dragged,  wells  were  plumbed,  telegrams 
were  dispatched  down  the  lines  of  railways 

50 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   5 1 

and  to  the  nearest  seaport  town  — 1200 
miles  away  —  but  Imray  was  not  at  the 
end  of  the  drag-ropes  nor  the  telegrams. 
He  was  gone,  and  his  place  knew  him  no 
more.  Then  the  work  of  the  great  Indian 
Empire  swept  forward,  because  it  could  not 
be  delayed,  and  Imray,  from  being  a  man, 
became  a  mystery  —  such  a  thing  as  men 
talk  over  at  their  tables  in  the  club  for  a 
month  and  then  forget  utterly.  His  guns, 
horses,  and  carts  were  sold  to  the  highest 
bidder.  His  superior  officer  wrote  an  ab- 
surd letter  to  his  mother,  saying  that  Imray 
had  unaccountably  disappeared  and  his 
bungalow  stood  empty  on  the  road. 

After  three  or  four  months  of  the  scorch- 
ing hot  weather  had  gone  by,  my  friend 
Strickland,  of  the  police  force,  saw  fit  to 
rent  the  bungalow  from  the  native  landlord. 
This  was  before  he  was  engaged  to  Miss 
Youghai  —  an  affair  which  has  been  de- 
scribed in  another  place  —  and  while  he 
was  pursuing  his  investigations  into  native 
life.  His  own  life  was  sufficiently  peculiar, 
and  men  complained  of  his  manners  and 
customs.  There  was  always  food  in  his 
house,  but  there  were  no  regular  times  for 
meals.  He  eat,  standing  up  and  walking 
about,  whatever  he  might  find  on  the  side- 
board, and  this  is  not  good  for  the  insides 
of  human  beings.  His  domestic  equip- 
ment was  limited  to  six  rifles,  three  shot- 


52  Mine  Own  People 

guns,  five  saddles,  and  a  collection  of  stiff- 
jointed  masheer  rods,  bigger  and  stronger 
than  the  largest  salmon  rods.  These  things 
occupied  one-half  of  his  bungalow,  and  the 
other  half  was  given  up  to  Strickland  and 
his  dog  Tietjens  —  an  enormous  Rampur 
slut,  who  sung  when  she  was  ordered,  and 
devoured  daily  the  rations  of  two  men. 
She  spoke  to  Strickland  in  a  language  of 
her  own,  and  whenever  in  her  walks  abroad 
she  saw  things  calculated  to  destroy  the 
peace  of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen  Empress, 
she  returned  to  her  master  and  gave  him 
information.  Strickland  would  take  steps 
at  once,  and  the  end  of  his  labors  was  trou- 
ble and  fine  and  imprisonment  for  other 
people.  The  natives  believed  that  Tietjens 
was  a  familiar  spirit,  and  treated  her  with 
the  great  reverence  that  is  born  of  hate  and 
fear.  One  room  in  the  bungalow  was  set 
apart  for  her  special  use.  She  owned  a 
bedstead,  a  blanket,  and  a  drinking-trough, 
and  if  any  one  came  into  Strickland's  room 
at  night,  her  custom  was  to  knock  down 
the  invader  and  give  tongue  till  some  one 
came  with  a  light.  Strickland  owes  his 
life  to  her.  When  he  was  on  the  frontier 
in  search  of  the  local  murderer  who  came 
in  the  gray  dawn  to  send  Strickland  much 
further  than  the  Andaman  Islands,  Tiet- 
jens caught  him  as  he  was  crawling  into 
Strickland's  tent  with  a  dagger  between  his 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   53 

teeth,  and  after  his  record  of  iniquity  was 
established  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  he  was 
hanged.  From  that  date  Tietjens  wore  a 
collar  of  rough  silver  and  employed  a  mon- 
ogram on  her  night  blanket,  and  the 
blanket  was  double-woven  Kashmir  cloth, 
for  she  was  a  delicate  dog. 

Under  no  circumstances  would  she  be 
separated  from  Strickland,  and  when  he 
was  ill  with  fever  she  made  great  trouble 
for  the  doctors  because  she  did  not  know 
how  to  help  her  master  and  would  not 
allow  another  creature  to  attempt  aid. 
Macarnaght,  of  the  Indian  Medical  Service, 
beat  her  over  the  head  with  a  gun,  before 
she  could  understand  that  she  must  give 
room  for  those  who  could  give  quinine. 

A  short  time  after  Strickland  had  taken 
Imray's  bungalow,  my  business  took  me 
through  that  station,  and  naturally,  the 
club  quarters  being  full,  I  quartered  myself 
upon  Strickland.  It  was  a  desirable  bun- 
galow, eight-roomed,  and  heavily  thatched 
against  any  chance  of  leakage  from  rain. 
Under  the  pitch  of  the  roof  ran  a  ceiling 
cloth,  which  looked  just  as  nice  as  a  white- 
washed ceiling.  The  landlord  had  re- 
painted it  when  Strickland  took  the 
bungalow,  and  unless  you  knew  how  In- 
dian bungalows  were  built  you  would  never 
have  suspected  that  above  the  cloth  lay  the 
dark,    three-cornered    cavern    of   the    roof, 


54  Mine  Own  People 

where  the  beams  and  the  under  side  of  the 
thatch  harbored  al!  manner  of  rats,  bats, 
ants,  and  other  things. 

Tietjens  met  me  in  the  veranda  with  a 
bay  like  the  boom  of  the  bells  of  St.  Paul's, 
and  put  her  paws  on  my  shoulders  and 
said  she  was  glad  to  see  me.  Strickland 
had  contrived  to  put  together  that  sort  of 
meal  which  he  called  lunch,  and  immedi- 
ately after  it  was  finished  went  out  about 
his  business.  I  was  left  alone  with  Tiet- 
jens and  my  own  affairs.  The  heat  of  the 
summer  had  broken  up  and  given  place 
to  the  warm  damp  of  the  rains.  There  was 
no  motion  in  the  heated  air,  but  the  rain 
fell  like  bayonet  rods  on  the  earth,  and 
flung  up  a  blue  mist  where  it  splashed  back 
again.  The  bamboos  and  the  custard  ap- 
ples, the  poinsettias  and  the  mango-trees 
in  the  garden  stood  still  while  the  warm 
water  lashed  through  them,  and  the  frogs 
began  to  sing  among  the  aloe  hedges.  A 
little  before  the  light  failed,  and  when  the 
rain  was  at  its  worst,  I  sat  in  the  back  ver- 
anda and  heard  the  water  roar  from  the 
eaves,  and  scratched  myself  because  I  was 
covered  with  the  thing  they  call  prickly 
heat.  Tietjens  came  out  with  me  and  put 
her  head  in  my  lap,  and  was  very  sorrow- 
ful, so  I  gave  her  biscuits  when  tea  was 
ready,  and  I  took  tea  in  the  back  veranda 
on  account  of  the  little  coolness  I   found 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   55 

there.  The  rooms  of  the  house  were  dark 
behind  me.  I  could  smell  Strickland's  sad- 
dlery and  the  oil  on  his  guns,  and  I  did 
not  the  least  desire  to  sit  among  these 
things.  My  own  servant  came  to  me  in 
the  twilight,  the  muslin  of  his  clothes  cling- 
ing tightly  to  his  drenched  body,  and  told 
me  that  a  gentleman  had  called  and  wished 
to  see  some  one.  Very  much  against  my 
will,  and  because  of  the  darkness  of  the 
rooms,  I  went  into  the  naked  drawing- 
room,  telling  my  man  to  bring  the  lights. 
There  might  or  might  not  have  been  a 
caller  in  the  room  —  it  seems  to  me  that 
I  saw  a  figure  by  one  of  the  windows,  but 
when  the  lights  came  there  was  nothing 
save  the  spikes  of  the  rain  without  and 
the  smell  of  the  drinking  earth  in  my  nos- 
trils. I  explained  to  my  man  that  he  was 
no  wiser  than  he  ought  to  be,  and  went 
back  to  the  veranda  to  talk  to  Tietjens. 
She  had  gone  out  into  the  wet  and  I  could 
hardly  coax  her  back  to  me  —  even  with 
biscuits  with  sugar  on  top.  Strickland  rode 
back,  dripping  wet,  just  before  dinner,  and 
the  first  thing  he  said  was: 

u  Has  any  one  called?  " 

I  explained,  with  apologies,  that  my  ser- 
vant had  called  me  into  the  drawing-room 
on  a  false  alarm;  or  that  some  loafer  had 
tried  to  call  on  Strickland,  and,  thinking 
better   of   it,   fled    after   giving   his    name. 


56  Mine  Own  People 

Strickland  ordered  dinner  without  com- 
ment and  since  it  was  a  real  dinner,  with 
white  table-cloth  attached,  we  sat  down. 

At  nine  o'clock  Strickland  wanted  to  go 
to  bed,  and  I  was  tired  too.  Tietjens,  who 
had  been  lying  underneath  the  table,  rose 
up  and  went  into  the  least-exposed  veranda 
as  soon  as  her  master  moved  to  his  own 
room,  which  was  next  to  the  stately  cham- 
ber set  apart  for  Tietjens.  If  a  mere  wife 
had  wished  to  sleep  out-of-doors  in  that 
pelting  rain,  it  would  not  have  mattered, 
but  Tietjens  was  a  dog,  and  therefore  the 
better  animal.  I  looked  at  Strickland,  ex- 
pecting to  see  him  flog  her  with  a  whip. 
He  smiled  queerly,  as  a  man  would  smile 
after  telling  some  hideous  domestic  trag- 
edy. "  She  has  done  this  ever  since  I 
moved  in  here." 

The  dog  was  Strickland's  dog,  so  I  said 
nothing,  but  I  felt  all  that  Strickland  felt 
in  being  made  light  of.  Tietjens  encamped 
outside  my  bedroom  window,  and  storm 
after  storm  came  up,  thundered  on  the 
thatch,  and  died  away.  The  lightning 
spattered  the  sky  as  a  thrown  egg  spatters 
a  barn  door,  but  the  light  was  pale  blue, 
not  yellow;  and  looking  through  my  slit 
bamboo  blinds,  I  could  see  the  great  dog 
standing,  not  sleeping,  in  the  veranda,  the 
hackles  alift  on  her  back,  and  her  feet 
planted  as  tensely  as  the  drawn  wire  rope 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   $j 

of  a  suspension  bridge.  In  the  very  short 
pauses  of  the  thunder  I  tried  to  sleep,  but 
it  seemed  that  some  one  wanted  me  very 
badly.  He,  whoever  he  was,  was  trying  to 
call  me  by  name,  but  his  voice  was  no  more 
than  a  husky  whisper.  Then  the  thunder 
ceased  and  Tietjens  went  into  the  garden 
and  howled  at  the  low  moon.  Somebody 
tried  to  open  my  door,  and  walked  about 
and  through  the  house,  and  stood  breath- 
ing heavily  in  the  verandas,  and  just  when 
I  was  falling  asleep  I  fancied  that  I  heard 
a  wild  hammering  and  clamoring  above  my 
head  or  on  the  door. 

1  ran  into  Strickland's  room  and  asked 
him  whether  he  was  ill  and  had  been  call- 
ing for  me.  He  was  lying  on  the  bed  half- 
dressed,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  "  I 
thought  you'd  come,"  he  said.  "  Have  I 
been  walking  around  the  house  at  all?" 

I  explained  that  he  had  been  in  the  din- 
ing-room and  the  smoking-room  and  two 
or  three  other  places;  and  he  laughed  and 
told  me  to  go  back  to  bed.  I  went  back 
to  bed  and  slept  till  the  morning,  but  in 
all  my  dreams  I  was  sure  I  was  doing  some 
one  an  injustice  in  not  attending  to  his 
wants.  What  those  wants  were  I  could 
not  tell,  but  a  fluttering,  whispering,  bolt- 
fumbling,  luring,  loitering  some  one  was 
reproaching  me  for  my  slackness,  and 
through  all  the  dreams  I  heard  the  howling 


58  Mine  Own  People 

of  Tietjens  in  the  garden  and  the  thrashing 
of  the  rain. 

I  was  in  that  house  for  two  days,  and 
Strickland  went  to  his  office  daily,  leaving 
me  alone  for  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day,  with 
Tietjens  for  my  only  companion.  As  long 
as  the  full  light  lasted  I  was  comfortable, 
and  so  was  Tietjens;  but  in  the  twilight  she 
and  I  moved  into  the  back  veranda  and 
cuddled  each  other  for  company.  We  were 
alone  in  the  house,  but  for  all  that  it  was 
fully  occupied  by  a  tenant  with  whom  I 
had  no  desire  to  interfere.  I  never  saw 
him,  but  I  could  see  the  curtains  between 
the  rooms  quivering  where  he  had  just 
passed  through;  I  could  hear  the  chairs 
creaking  as  the  bamboos  sprung  under  a 
weight  that  had  just  quitted  them;  and  I 
could  feel  when  I  went  to  get  a  book  from 
the  dining-roorn  that  somebody  was  wait- 
ing in  the  shadows  of  the  front  veranda  till 
I  should  have  gone  away.  Tietjens  made 
the  twilight  more  interesting  by  glaring 
into  the  darkened  rooms,  with  every  hair 
erect,  and  following  the  motions  of  some- 
thing that  I  could  not  see.  She  never  en- 
tered the  rooms,  but  her  eyes  moved,  and 
that  was  quite  sufficient.  Only  when  my 
servant  came  to  trim  the  lamps  and  make 
all  light  and  habitable,  she  would  come  in 
with  me  and  spend  her  time  sitting  on  her 
haunches  watching  an  invisible  extra  man 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   59 

as  he  moved  about  behind  my  shoulder. 
Dogs  are  cheerful  companions. 

I  explained  to  Strickland,  gently  as 
might  be,  that  I  would  go  over  to  the  club 
and  find  for  myself  quarters  there.  I  ad- 
mired his  hospitality,  was  pleased  with  his 
guns  and  rods,  but  I  did  not  much  care 
for  his  house  and  its  atmosphere.  He 
heard  me  out  to  the  end,  and  then  smiled 
very  wearily,  but  without  contempt,  for  he 
is  a  man  who  understands  things.  "  Stay 
on,"  he  said,  "  and  see  what  this  thing 
means.  All  you  have  talked  about  I  have 
known  since  I  took  the  bungalow.  Stay 
on  and  wait.  Tietjens  has  left  me.  Are 
you  going  too?" 

I  had  seen  him  through  one  little  affair 
connected  with  an  idol  that  had  brought 
me  to  the  doors  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  and 
I  had  no  desire  to  help  him  through  fur- 
ther experiences.  He  was  a  man  to  whom 
unpleasantnesses  arrived  as  do  dinners  to 
ordinary  people. 

Therefore  I  explained  more  clearly  than 
ever  that  I  liked  him  immensely,  and  would 
be  happy  to  see  him  in  the  daytime,  but 
that  I  didn't  care  to  sleep  under  his  roof. 
This  was  after  dinner,  when  Tietjens  had 
gone  out  to  lie  in  the  veranda. 

"  Ton  my  soul,  I  don't  wonder,"  said 
Strickland,  with  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling- 
cloth.     "Look   at   that!" 


60  Mine  Own  People 

The  tails  of  two  snakes  wen-  hanging  be- 
tween the  cloth  and  the  cornice  of  the  wall. 
They  threw  long  shadows  in  the  lamp-light. 
"  If  you  are  afraid  of  snakes,  of  course  — " 
said  Strickland.  "  I  hate  and  fear  snakes, 
because  if  you  look  into  the  eyes  of  any 
snake  you  will  see  that  it  knows  all  and 
more  of  man's  fall,  and  that  it  feels  all  the 
contempt  that  the  devil  felt  when  Adam 
was  evicted  from  Eden.  Besides  which  its 
bite  is  generally  fatal,  and  it  bursts  up 
trouser  legs." 

"  You  ought  to  get  your  thatch  over- 
hauled," I  said.  "  Give  me  a  masheer  rod, 
and  we'll  poke  'em  down." 

"  They'll  hide  .among  the  roof  beams," 
said  Strickland.  "  I  can't  stand  snakes 
overhead.  I'm  going  up.  If  I  shake  'em 
down,  stand  by  with  a  cleaning-rod  and 
break  their  backs." 

I  was  not  anxious  to  assist  Strickland 
in  his  work,  but  I  took  the  loading-rod  and 
waited  in  the  dining-room,  while  Strick- 
land brought  a  gardener's  ladder  from  the 
veranda  and  set  it  against  the  side  of  the 
room.  The  snake  tails  drew  themselves 
up  and  disappeared.  We  could  hear  the 
dry  rushing  scuttle  of  long  bodies  running 
over  the  baggy  cloth.  Strickland  took  a 
lamp  with  him,  while  I  tried  to  make  clear 
the  danger  of  hunting  roof  snakes  between 
a  ceiling-cloth  and  a  thatch,  apart  from  the 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   61 

deterioration  of  property  caused  by  ripping 
out  ceiling-cloths. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Strickland.  "They're 
sure  to  hide  near  the  walls  by  the  cloth. 
The  bricks  are  too  cold  for  'em,  and  the 
heat  of  the  room  is  just  what  they  like." 
He  put  his  hand  to  the  corner  of  the  cloth 
and  ripped  the  rotten  stuff  from  the  cor- 
nice. It  gave  a  great  sound  of  tearing, 
and  Strickland  put  his  head  through  the 
opening  into  the  dark  of  the  angle  of  the 
roof  beams.  I  set  my  teeth  and  lifted  the 
loading  rod,  for  I  had'  not  the  least  knowl- 
edge of  what  might  descend. 

"  H'm,"  said  Strickland;  and  his  voice 
rolled  and  rumbled  in  the  roof.  "  There's 
room  for  another  set  of  rooms  up  here, 
and,  by  Jove!  some  one  is  occupying  'em." 

"Snakes?"  I  said  down  below. 

"  No.  It's  a  buffalo.  Hand  me  up  the 
two  first  joints  of  a  masheer  rod,  and  I'll 
prod  it.     It's  lying  on  the  main  beam." 

I  handed  up  the  rod. 

"What  a  nest  for  owls  and  serpents! 
No  wonder  the  snakes  live  here,"  said 
Strickland,  climbing  further  into  the  roof. 
I  could  see  his  elbow  thrusting  with  the 
rod.  "  Come  out  of  that,  whoever  you  are! 
Look  out!  Heads  below  there!  It's 
tottering." 

I  saw  the  ceiling-cloth  nearly  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  room  bag  with  a  shape  that  was 


62  Mine  Own  People 

pressing  it  downward  and  downward  to- 
ward the  lighted  lamps  on  the  table.  I 
snatched  a  lamp  out  of  danger  and  stood 
back.  Then  the  cloth  ripped  out  from  the 
walls,  tore,  split,  swayed,  and  shot  down 
upon  the  table  something  that  I  dared  not 
look  at  till  Strickland  had  slid  down  the 
ladder  and  was  standing  by  my  side. 

He  did  not  say  much,  being  a  man  of  few 
words,  but  he  picked  up  the  loose  end  of 
the  table-cloth  and  threw  it  over  the  thing 
on  the  table. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  said  he,  pulling  down 
the  lamp,  "  our  friend  Imray  has  come 
back.    Oh!  you  would,  would  you?" 

There  was  a  movement  under  the  cloth, 
and  a  little  snake  wriggled  out,  to  be  back- 
broken  by  the  butt  of  the  masheer  rod.  I 
was  sufficiently  sick  to  make  no  remarks 
worth  recording. 

Strickland  meditated  and  helped  himself 
to  drinks  liberally.  The  thing  under  the 
cloth  made  no  more  signs  of  life. 

"  Is  it  Imray?  "  I  said. 

Strickland  turned  back  the  cloth  for  a 
moment  and  looked.  "  It  is  Imray,"  he 
said,  "  and  his  throat  is  cut  from  ear  to 
ear." 

Then  we  spoke  both  together  and  to  our- 
selves :  "  That's  why  he  whispered  about 
the  house." 

Tietjens,   in   the  garden,   began   to  bay 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray  63 

furiously.       A  little  later  her  great  nose 
heaved  upon  the  dining-room  door. 

She  sniffed  and  was  still.  The  broken 
and  tattered  ceiling-cloth  hung  down 
almost  to  the  level  of  the  table,  and  there 
was  hardly  room  to  move  away  from  the 
discovery. 

Then  Tietjens  came  in  and  sat  down,  her 
teeth  bared  and  her  forepaws  planted.  She 
looked  at  Strickland. 

"  It's  bad  business,  old  lady,"  said  he. 
"  Men  don't  go  up  into  the  roofs  of  their 
bungalows  to  die,  and  they  don't  fasten  up 
the  ceiling-cloth  behind  'em.  Let's  think 
it  out." 

"  Let's  think  it  out  somewhere  else,"  I 
said. 

"  Excellent  idea!  Turn  the  lamps  out. 
We'll  get  into  my  room." 

I  did  not  turn  the  lamps  out.  I  went 
into  Strickland's  room  first  and  allowed 
him  to  make  the  darkness.  Then  he  fol- 
lowed me,  and  we  lighted  tobacco  and 
thought.  Strickland  did  the  thinking.  I 
smoked  furiously  because  I  was  afraid. 

"  Imray  is  back,"  said  Strickland.  "  The 
question  is,  who  killed  Imray?  Don't  talk 
—  I  have  a  notion  of  my  own.  When  I 
took  this  bungalow  I  took  most  of  Imray's 
servants.  Imray  was  guileless  and  inoffen- 
sive, wasn't  he?  " 

I   agreed,   though   the   heap   under   the 


64  Mine  Own  People 

cloth  looked  neither  one  thing  nor  the 
other. 

"  If  I  call  the  servants  they  will  stand 
fast  in  a  crowd  and  lie  like  Aryans.  What 
do  you  suggest? " 

"  Call  'em  in  one  by  one,"  I  said. 

"  They'll  run  away  and  give  the  news  to 
all  their  fellows,"  said  Strickland. 

"  We  must  segregate  'em.  Do  you  sup- 
pose your  servant  knows  anything  about 
it?" 

"  He  may,  for  aught  I  know,  but  I  don't 
think  it's  likely.  He  has  only  been  here 
two  or  three  days." 

"What's  your  notion?"  I  asked. 

"  I  can't  quite  tell.  How  the  dickens 
did  the  man  get  the  wrong  side  of  the  ceil- 
ing-cloth?" 

There  was  a  heavy  coughing  outside 
Strickland's  bedroom  door.  This  showed 
that  Bahadur  Khan,  his  body-servant,  had 
waked  from  sleep  and  wished  to  put  Strick- 
land to  bed. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Strickland.  "  It  is  a 
very  warm  night,  isn't  it?  " 

Bahadur  Khan,  a  great,  green-turbaned, 
six-foot  Mohammedan,  said  that  it  was  a 
very  warm  night,  but  that  there  was  more 
rain  pending,  which,  by  his  honor's  favor, 
would  bring  relief  to  the  country. 

"  It  will  be  so,  if  God  pleases,"  said 
Strickland,  tugging  off  his  boots.     "  It  is 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   65 

in  my  mind,  Bahadur  Khan,  that  I  have 
worked  thee  remorselessly  for  many  days — 
ever  since  that  time  when  tliou  first  earnest 
into  my  service.     What  time  was  that?  " 

"  Has  the  heaven-born  forgotten?  It 
was  when  Imray  Sahib  went  secretly  to 
Europe  without  warning  given,  and  I  — 
even  I  —  came  into  the  honored  service  of 
the  protector  of  the  poor. 

"  And  Imray  Sahib  went  to  Europe? " 
"  It  is  so  said  among  the  servants." 
"  And  thou  wilt  take  service  with  him 
when  he  returns  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  sahib.  He  was  a  good  mas- 
ter and  cherished  his  dependents." 

"  That  is  true.  I  am  very  tired,  but  I 
can  go  buck-shooting  to-morrow.  Give 
me  the  little  rifle  that  I  use  for  black  buck; 
it  is  in  the  case  yonder." 

The  man  stooped  over  the  case,  handed 
barrels,  stock,  and  fore-end  to  Strickland, 
who  fitted  them  together.  Yawning  dole- 
fully, then  he  reached  down  to  the  gun- 
case,  took  a  solid  drawn  cartridge,  and 
slipped  it  into  the  breech  of  the  .360 
express. 

"  And  Imray  Sahib  has  gone  to  Europe 
secretly?  That  is  very  strange,  Bahadur 
Khan,  is  it  not?  " 

"  What  do  I  know  of  the  ways  of  the 
white  man,  heaven-born?" 

"  Very  little,  truly.    But  thou  shalt  know 


66  Mine  Own  People 

more.  It  has  reached  me  that  Imray  Sahib 
has  returned  from  his  so  long  journeyings, 
and  that  even  now  he  lies  in  the  next  room, 
waiting  his  servant." 

"Sahib!" 

The  lamp-light  slid  along  the  barrels  of 
the  rifle  as  they  leveled  themselves  against 
Bahadur  Khan's  broad  breast. 

"Go,  then,  and  look!"  said  Strickland. 
"  Take  a  lamp.  Thy  master  is  tired,  and 
he  waits.     Go !  " 

The  man  picked  up  a  lamp  and  went  into 
the  dining-room,  Strickland  following,  and 
almost  pushing  him  with  the  muzzle  of  the 
rifle.  He  looked  for  a  moment  at  the 
black  depths  behind  the  ceiling-cloth,  at 
the  carcass  of  the  mangled  snake  under 
foot,  and  last,  a  gray  glaze  setting  on  his 
face,  at  the  thing  under  the  table-cloth. 

"  Hast  thou  seen?  "  said  Strickland,  after 
a  pause. 

"  I  have  seen.  I  am  clay  in  the  white 
man's  hands.  What  does  the  presence 
do?" 

"Hang  thee  within  a  month!  What 
else?  " 

"  For  killing  him?  Nay,  sahib,  con- 
sider. Walking  among  us,  his  servants,  he 
cast  his  eyes  upon  my  child,  who  was  four 
years  old.  Him  he  bewitched,  and  in  ten 
days  he  died  of  the  fever.     My  child!" 

"What  said  Imrav  Sahib?" 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   67 

"  He  said  he  was  a  handsome  child,  and 
patted  him  on  the  head;  wherefore  my 
child  died.  Wherefore  I  killed  Imray 
Sahib  in  the  twilight,  when  he  came  back 
from  office  and  was  sleeping.  The  heaven- 
born  knows  all  things.  I  am  the  servant 
of  the  heaven-born." 

Strickland  looked  at  me  above  the  rifle, 
and  said,  in  the  vernacular:  "Thou  art 
witness  to  this  saying.     He  has  killed." 

Bahadur  Khan  stood  ashen  gray  in  the 
light  of  the  one  lamp.  The  need  for  justi- 
fication came  upon  him  very  swiftly. 

"  I  am  trapped,"  he  said,  "  but  the  of- 
fense was  that  man's.  He  cast  an  evil  eye 
upon  my  child,  and  I  killed  and  hid  him. 
Only  such  as  are  served  by  devils,"  he 
glared  at  Tietjens,  crouched  stolidly  before 
him,  "  only  such  could  know  what  I  did." 

"  It  was  clever.  But  thou  shouldst  have 
lashed  him  to  the  beam  with  a  rope.  Now, 
thou  thyself  wilt  hang  by  a  rope. 
Orderly!" 

A  drowsy  policeman  answered  Strick- 
land's call.  He  was  followed  by  another, 
and  Tietjens  sat  still. 

"  Take  him  to  the  station,"  said  Strick- 
land.    "  There  is  a  case  toward." 

"  Do  I  hang,  then?  "  said  Bahadur  Khan, 
making  no  attempt  to  escape  and  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"  If  the  sun  shines,  or  the  water  runs, 


68  Mine  Own  People 

thou  wilt  hang,"  said  Strickland.  Bahadur 
Khan  stepped  back  one  pace,  quivered,  and 
stood  still.  The  two  policemen  waited  fur- 
ther orders. 

"  Go!  "  said  Strickland. 

"Nay;  but  I  go  very  swiftly,"  said  Ba- 
hadur Khan.  Look !  I  am  even  now  a  dead 
man." 

He  lifted  his  foot,  and  to  the  little  toe 
there  clung  the  head  of  the  half-killed 
snake,  firm  fixed  in  the  agony  of  death. 

"  I  come  of  land-holding  stock,"  said 
Bahadur  Khan,  rocking  where  he  stood. 
"  It  were  a  disgrace  for  me  to  go  to  the 
public  scaffold,  therefore  I  take  this  way. 
Be  it  remembered  that  the  sahib's  shirts 
are  correctly  enumerated,  and  that  there  is 
an  extra  piece  of  soap  in  his  wash-basin. 
My  child  was  bewitched,  and  I  slew  the 
wizard.  Why  should  you  seek  to  slay  me? 
My  honor  is  saved,  and  —  and  —  I  die." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  died  as  they 
die  who  are  bitten  by  the  little  kariat,  and 
the  policemen  bore  him  and  the  thing 
under  the  table-cloth  to  their  appointed 
places.  They  were  needed  to  make  clear 
the  disappearance  of  Imray. 

"  This,"  said  Strickland,  very  calmly,  as 
he  climbed  into  bed,  "  is  called  the  nine- 
teenth century.  Did  you  hear  what  that 
man  said?  " 


The  Recrudescence  of  Imray   69 

"  I  heard/'  I  answered.  "  Imray  made 
a  mistake." 

"  Simply  and  solely  through  not  knowing 
the  nature  and  coincidence  of  a  little  sea- 
sonal fever.  Bahadur  Khan  has  been  with 
him  for  four  years." 

I  shuddered.  My  own  servant  had  been 
with  me  for  exactly  that  length  of  time. 
When  I  went  over  to  my  own  room  I 
found  him  waiting,  impassive  as  the  copper 
head  on  a  penny,  to  pull  off  my  boots. 

"What  has  befallen  Bahadur  Khan?" 
said  I. 

"He  was  bitten  by  a  snake  and  died; 
the  rest  the  sahib  knows,"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  how  much  of  the  matter  hast  thou 
known?  " 

"  As  much  as  might  be  gathered  from 
one  coming  in  the  twilight  to  seek  satisfac- 
tion. Gently,  sahib.  Let  me  pull  off  those 
boots." 

I  had  just  settled  to  the  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion when  I  heard  Strickland  shouting  from 
his  side  of  the  house: 

"Tietjens  has  come  back  to  her  room!  " 

And  so  she  had.  The  great  deerhound 
was  couched  on  her  own  bedstead,  on  her 
own  blanket,  and  in  the  next  room  the  idle, 
empty  ceiling-cloth  wagged  light-heartedly 
as  it  flailed  on  the  table. 


MOTI  GUJ-MUTINEER 


Oxce  upon  a  time  there  was  a  coffee- 
planter  in  India  who  wished  to  clear  some 
forest  land  for  coffee-planting.  When  he 
had  cut  clown  all  the  trees  and  burned  the 
underwood,  the  stumps  still  remained. 
Dynamite  is  expensive  and  slow  fire  slow. 
The  happy  medium  for  stump-clearing  is 
the  lord  of  all  beasts,  who  is  the  elephant. 
He  will  either  push  the  stump  out  of  the 
ground  with  his  tusks,  if  he  has  any,  or 
drag  it  out  with  ropes.  The  planter,  there- 
fore, hired  elephants  by  ones  and  twos  and 
threes,  and  fell  to  work.  The  very  best  of 
all  the  elephants  belonged  to  the  very  worst 
of  all  the  drivers  or  mahouts;  and  this 
superior  beast's  name  was  Moti  Guj.  He 
was  the  absolute  property  of  his  mahout, 
which  would  never  have  been  the  case  un- 
der native  rule:  for  Moti  Guj  was  a  creature 
to  be  desired  by  kings,  and  his  name,  being 
translated,  meant  the  Pearl  Elephant.  Be- 
cause the  British  government  was  in  the 
land,  Deesa,  the  mahout,  enjoyed  his  prop- 
70 


Moti  Guj  —  Mutineer         71 

erty  undisturbed.  He  was  dissipated. 
When  he  had  made  much  money  through 
the  strength  of  his  elephant,  he  would  get 
extremely  drunk  and  give  Moti  Guj  a  beat- 
ing with  a  tent-peg  over  the  tender  nails  of 
the  forefeet.  Moti  Guj  never  trampled  the 
life  out  of  Deesa  on  these  occasions,  for  he 
knew  that  after  the  beating  was  over,  Deesa 
would  embrace  his  trunk  and  weep  and  call 
him  his  love  and  his  life  and  the  liver  of 
his  soul,  and  give  him  some  liquor.  Moti 
Guj  was  very  fond  of  liquor  —  arrack  for 
choice,  though  he  would  drink  palm-tree 
toddy  if  nothing  better  offered.  Then 
Deesa  would  go  to  sleep  between  Moti 
Guj's  forefeet,  and  as  Deesa  generally  chose 
the  middle  of  the  public  road,  and  as  Moti 
Guj  mounted  guard  over  him,  and  would 
not  permit  horse,  foot,  or  cart  to  pass  by, 
traffic  was  congested  till  Deesa  saw  fit  to 
wake  up. 

There  was  no  sleeping  in  the  day-time  on 
the  planter's  clearing:  the  wages  were  too 
high  to  risk.  Deesa  sat  on  Moti  Guj's 
neck  and  gave  him  orders,  while  Moti  Guj 
rooted  up  the  stumps  —  for  he  owned  a 
magnificent  pair  of  tusks;  or  pulled  at  the 
end  of  a  rope  —  for  he  had  a  magnificent 
pair  of  shoulders  —  while  Deesa  kicked 
him  behind  the  ears  and  said  he  was  the 
king  of  elephants.  At  evening  time  Moti 
Guj  would  wash  down  his  three  hundred 


72  Mine  Own  People 

pounds'  weight  of  green  food  with  a  quart 
of  arrack,  and  Deesa  would  take  a  share, 
and  sing  songs  between  Moti  Guj's  legs 
till  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  Once  a  week 
Deesa  led  Moti  Guj  down  to  the  river,  and 
Moti  Guj  lay  on  his  side  luxuriously  in  the 
shallows,  while  Deesa  went  over  him  with 
a  coir  swab  and  a  brick.  Moti  Guj  never 
mistook  the  pounding  blow  of  the  latter  for 
the  smack  of  the  former  that  warned  him 
to  get  up  and  turn  over  on  the  other  side. 
Then  Deesa  would  look  at  his  feet  and  ex- 
amine his  eyes,  and  turn  up  the  fringes  of 
his  mighty  ears  in  case  of  sores  or  budding 
ophthalmia.  After  inspection  the  two 
would  "  come  up  with  a  song  from  the  sea," 
Moti  Guj,  all  black  and  shining,  waving  a 
torn  tree  branch  twelve  feet  long  in  his 
trunk,  and  Deesa  knotting  up  his  own  long 
wet  hair. 

It  was  a  peaceful,  well  paid  life  till  Deesa 
felt  the  return  of  the  desire  to  drink  deep. 
He  wished  for  an  orgy.  The  little  draughts 
that  led  nowhere  were  taking  the  manhood 
out  of  him. 

He  went  to  the  planter,  and  "  My 
mother's  dead,"  said  he,  weeping. 

"  She  died  on  the  last  plantation  two 
months  ago,  and  she  died  once  before  that 
when  you  were  working  for  me  last  year," 
said  the  planter,  who  knew  something  of 
the  ways  of  nativedom. 


Moti  Guj  —  Mutineer         73 

"  Then  it's  my  aunt,  and  she  was  just  the 
same  as  a  mother  to  me,"  said  Deesa,  weep- 
ing more  than  ever.  "  She  has  left  eigh- 
teen small  children  entirely  without  bread, 
and  it  is  I  who  must  fill  their  little  stom- 
achs," said  Deesa,  beating  his  head  on  the 
floor. 

"  Who  brought  you  the  news?  "  said  the 
planter. 

"  The  post,"  said  Deesa. 

"  There  hasn't  been  a  post  here  for  the 
past  week.     Get  back  to  your  lines!  " 

"  A  devastating  sickness  has  fallen  on 
my  village,  and  all  my  wives  are  dying," 
yelled  Deesa,  really  in  tears  this  time. 

"  Call  Chihun,  who  comes  from  Deesa's 
village,"  said  the  planter.  "  Chihun,  has 
this  man  got  a  wife?  " 

"He?"  said  Chihun.  "No.  Not  a 
woman  of  our  village  would  look  at  him. 
They'd  sooner  marry  the  elephant." 

Chihun  snorted.  Deesa  wept  and  bel- 
lowed. 

"  You  will  get  into  a  difficulty  in  a  min- 
ute," said  the  planter.  "  Go  back  to  your 
work!  " 

"  Now  I  will  speak  Heaven's  truth," 
gulped  Deesa,  with  an  inspiration.  "  I 
haven't  been  drunk  for  two  months.  I  de- 
sire to  depart  in  order  to  get  properly 
drunk  afar  off  and  distant  from  this  heav- 


74  Mine  Own  People 

enly  plantation.  Thus  I  shall  cause  no 
trouble." 

A  flickering  smile  crossed  the  planter's 
face.  "  Deesa,"  said  he,  "  you've  spoken 
the  truth,  and  I'd  give  you  leave  on  the 
spot  if  anything  could  be  done  with  Moti 
Guj  while  you're  away.  You  know  that  he 
will  only  obey  your  orders." 

"  May  the  light  of  the  heavens  live  forty 
thousand  years.  I  shall  be  absent  but  ten 
little  days.  After  that,  upon  my  faith  and 
honor  and  soul,  I  return.  As  to  the  incon- 
siderable interval,  have  I  the  gracious  per- 
mission of  the  heaven-born  to  call  up  Moti 
Guj?" 

Permission  was  granted,  and  in  answer 
to  Deesa's  shrill  yell,  the  mighty  tusker 
swung  out  of  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  trees 
where  he  had  been  squirting  dust  over  him- 
self till  his  master  should  return. 

"  Light  of  my  heart,  protector  of  the 
drunken,  mountain  of  might,  give  ear!" 
said  Deesa,  standing  in  front  of  him. 

Moti  Guj  gave  ear,  and  saluted  with  his 
trunk.     "  I  am  going  away,"  said  Deesa. 

Moti  Guj's  eyes  twinkled.  He  liked 
jaunts  as  well  as  his  master.  One  could 
snatch  all  manner  of  nice  things  from  the 
road-side  then. 

"  But  you,  you  fussy  old  pig,  must  stay 
behind  and  work." 

The  twinkle  died  out  as  Moti  Guj  tried 


Moti  Guj  —  Mutineer        75 

to  look  delighted.  He  hated  stump-haul- 
ing on  the  plantation.     It  hurt  his  teeth. 

"  I  shall  be  gone  for  ten  days,  oh,  delec- 
table one !  Hold  up  your  near  forefoot  and 
I'll  impress  the  fact  upon  it,  warty  toad  of 
a  dried  mud-puddle."  Deesa  took  a  tent- 
peg  and  banged  Moti  Guj  ten  times  on  the 
nails.  Moti  Guj  grunted  and  shuffled  from 
foot  to  foot. 

;<  Ten  days,"  said  Deesa,  "  you  will  work 
and  haul  and  root  the  trees  as  Chihun  here 
shall  order  you.  Take  up  Chihun  and  set 
him  on  your  neck !  "  Moti  Guj  curled  the 
tip  of  his  trunk,  Chihun  put  his  foot  there, 
and  was  swung  on  to  the  neck.  Deesa 
handed  Chihun  the  heavy  ankus  —  the  iron 
elephant  goad. 

Chihun  thumped  Moti  Guj's  bald  head 
as  a  paver  thumps  a  curbstone. 

Moti  Guj  trumpeted. 

"Be  still,  hog  of  the  backwoods!  Chi- 
hun's  your  mahout  for  ten  days.  And 
now  bid  me  good-bye,  beast  after  mine  own 
heart.  Oh,  my  lord,  my  king!  Jewel  of 
all  created  elephants,  lily  of  the  herd,  pre- 
serve your  honored  health;  be  virtuous. 
Adieu!" 

Moti  Guj  lapped  his  trunk  round  Deesa 
and  swung  him  into  the  air  twice.  That 
was  his  way  of  bidding  him  good-bye. 

"  He'll  work  now,"  said  Deesa  to  the 
planter.     "  Have  I  leave  to  go?" 


j6  Mine  Own  People 

The  planter  nodded,  and  Deesa  dived 
into  the  woods.  Moti  Guj  went  back  to 
haul  stumps. 

Chihun  was  very  kind  to  him,  but  he  felt 
unhappy  and  forlorn  for  all  that.  Chihun 
gave  him  a  ball  of  spices,  and  tickled  him 
under  the  chin,  and  Chihun's  little  baby 
cooed  to  him  after  work  was  over,  and 
Chihun's  wife  called  him  a  darling;  but 
Moti  Guj  was  a  bachelor  by  instinct,  as 
Deesa  was.  He  did  not  understand  the 
domestic  emotions.  He  wanted  the  light 
of  his  universe  back  again  —  the  drink  and 
the  drunken  slumber,  the  savage  beatings 
and  the  savage  caresses. 

None  the  less  he  worked  well,  and  the 
planter  wondered.  Deesa  had  wandered 
along  the  roads  till  he  met  a  marriage  pro- 
cession of  his  own  caste,  and,  drinking, 
dancing,  and  tippling,  had  drifted  with  it 
past  all  knowledge  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

The  morning  of  the  eleventh  day  dawned, 
and  there  returned  no  Deesa.  Moti  Guj 
was  loosed  from  his  ropes  for  the  daily 
stint.  He  swung  clear,  looked  round, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  began  to  walk 
away,  as  one  having  business  elsewhere. 

"Hi!  ho!  Come  back  you!"  shouted 
Chihun.  "'  Come  back  and  put  me  on  your 
neck,  misborn  mountain!  Return,  splen- 
dor of  the  hill-sides!     Adornment   of  all 


Moti  Guj  —  Mutineer        jj 

India,  heave  to,  or  I'll  bang  every  toe  off 
your  fat  forefoot !  " 

Moti  Guj  gurgled  gently,  but  did  not 
obey.  Cbihun  ran  after  him  with  a  rope 
and  caught  him  up  Moti  Guj  put  his  ears 
forward,  and  Chihun  knew  what  that 
meant,  though  he  tried  to  carry  it  off  with 
high  words. 

"  None  of  your  nonsense  with  me,"  said 
he.     "  To  your  pickets,  devil-son!  " 

"  Hrrump!  "  said  Moti  Guj,  and  that  was 
all  —  that  and  the  forebent  ears. 

Moti  Guj  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
chewed  a  branch  for  a  toothpick,  and 
strolled  about  the  clearing,  making  fun  of 
the  other  elephants  who  had  just  set  to 
work. 

Chihun  reported  the  state  of  affairs  to 
the  planter,  who  came  out  with  a  dog-whip 
and  cracked  it  furiously.  Moti  Guj  paid 
the  white  man  the  compliment  of  charging 
him  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  the 
clearing  and  "  Hrrumphing  "  him  into  his 
veranda.  Then  he  stood  outside  the  house, 
chuckling  to  himself  and  shaking  all  over 
with  the  fun  of  it,  as  an  elephant  will. 

"We'll  thrash  him,"  said  the  planter. 
"  He  shall  have  the  finest  thrashing  ever 
elephant  received.  Give  Kala  Nag  and 
Nazin  twelve  foot  of  chain  apiece,  and  tell 
them  to  lay  on  twenty." 

Kala  Nag  —  which  means  Black  Snake 


78  Mine  Own  People 

—  and  Nazim  were  two  of  the  biggest  ele- 
phants in  the  lines,  and  one  of  their  duties 
was  to  administer  the  graver  punishment, 
since  no  man  can  beat  an  elephant  properly. 

They  took  the  whipping-chains  and  rat- 
tled them  in  their  trunks  as  they  sidled  up 
to  Moti  Guj  meaning  to  hustle  him  between 
them.  Moti  Guj  had  never,  in  all  his  life  of 
thirty-nine  years,  been  whipped,  and  he  did 
not  intend  to  begin  a  new  experience.  So 
he  waited,  waving  his  head  from  right  to 
left,  and  measuring  the  precise  spot  in  Kala 
Nag's  fat  side  where  a  blunt  tusk  could  sink 
deepest.  Kala  Nag  had  no  tusks;  the 
chain  was  his  badge  of  authority;  but  for 
all  that,  he  swung  wide  of  Moti  Guj  at  the 
last  minute,  and  tried  to  appear  as  if  he 
had  brought  the  chain  out  for  amusement. 
Nazim  turned  round  and  went  home  early. 
He  did  not  feel  righting  fit  that  morning, 
and  so  Moti  Guj  was  left  standing  alone 
with  his  ears  cocked. 

That  decided  the  planter  to  argue  no 
more,  and  Moti  Guj  rolled  back  to  his 
amateur  inspection  of  the  clearing.  An 
elephant  who  will  not  work  and  is  not  tied 
up  is  about  as  manageable  as  an  eighty- 
one-ton  gun  loose  in  a  heavy  seaway.  He 
slapped  old  friends  on  the  back  and  asked 
them  if  the  stumps  were  coming  away 
easily;  he  talked  nonsense  concerning  labor 
and  the  inalienable  rights  of  elephants  to 


Moti  Guj--  Mutineer         79 

a  long  "  nooning;  "  and,  wandering  to  and 
fro,  he  thoroughly  demoralized  the  garden 
till  sundown,  when  he  returned  to  his  picket 
for  food. 

"  If  you  won't  work,  you  sha'n't  eat," 
said  Chihun,  angrily.  "  You're  a  wild  ele- 
phant, and  no  educated  animal  at  all.  Go 
back  to  your  jungle." 

Chihun's  little  brown  baby  was  rolling  on 
the  floor  of  the  hut,  and  stretching  out  its 
fat  arms  to  the  huge  shadow  in  the  door- 
way. Moti  Guj  knew  well  that  it  was  the 
dearest  thing  on  earth  to  Chihun.  He 
swung  out  his  trunk  with  a  fascinating 
crook  at  the  end,  and  the  brown  baby  threw 
itself,  shouting,  upon  it.  Moti  Guj  made 
fast  and  pulled  up  till  the  brown  baby  was 
crowing  in  the  air  twelve  feet  above  his 
father's  head. 

"Great  Lord!"  said  Chihun.  "Flour 
cakes  of  the  best,  twelve  in  number,  two 
feet  across  and  soaked  in  rum,  shall  be 
yours  on  the  instant,  and  two  hundred 
pounds'  weight  of  fresh-cut  young  sugar- 
cane therewith.  Deign  only  to  put  down 
safely  that  insignificant  brat  who  is  my 
heart  and  my  life  to  me!  " 

Moti  Guj  tucked  the  brown  baby  com- 
fortably between  his  forefeet,  that  could 
have  knocked  into  toothpicks  all  Chihun's 
hut,  and  waited  for  his  food.  He  eat  it, 
and  the  brown  baby  crawled  away.     Moti 


80  Mine  Own  People 

Guj  dozed  and  thought  of  Deesa.  One  of 
many  mysteries  connected  with  the  ele- 
phant is  that  his  huge  body  needs  less  sleep 
than  anything  else  that  lives.  Four  or  five 
hours  in  the  night  suffice  —  two  just  before 
midnight,  lying  down  on  one  side;  two  just 
after  one  o'clock,  lying  down  on  the  other. 
The  rest  of  the  silent  hours  are  filled  with 
eating  and  fidgeting,  and  long  grumbling 
soliloquies. 

At  midnight,  therefore,  Moti  Guj  strode 
out  of  his  pickets,  for  a  thought  had  come 
to  him  that  Deesa  might  be  lying  drunk 
somewhere  in  the  dark  forest  with  none  to 
look  after  him.  So  all  that  night  he  chased 
through  the  undergrowth,  blowing  and 
trumpeting  and  shaking  his  ears.  He  went 
down  to  the  river  and  blared  across  the 
shallows  where  Deesa  used  to  wash  him, 
but  there  was  no  answer.  He  could  not 
find  Deesa,  but  he  disturbed  all  the  other 
elephants  in  the  lines,  and  nearly  fright- 
ened to  death  some  gypsies  in  the  woods. 

At  dawn  Deesa  returned  to  the  planta- 
tion. He  had  been  very  drunk  indeed,  and 
he  expected  to  get  into  trouble  for  outstay- 
ing his  leave.  He  drew  a  long  breath  when 
he  saw  that  the  bungalow  and  the  planta- 
tion were  still  uninjured,  for  he  knew  some- 
thing of  Moti  Guj's  temper,  and  reported 
himself  with  many  lies  and  salaams.  Moti 
Guj  had  gone  to  his  pickets  for  breakfast. 


Moti  Guj -- Mutineer         8 1 

The  night  exercise  had  made  him  hungry. 

"  Call  up  your  beast,"  said  the  planter; 
and  Deesa  shouted  in  the  mysterious  ele- 
phant language  that  some  mahouts  believe 
came  from  China  at  the  birth  of  the  world, 
when  elephants  and  not  men  were  masters. 
Moti  Guj  heard  and  came.  Elephants  do 
not  gallop.  They  move  from  places  at 
varying  rates  of  speed.  If  an  elephant 
wished  to  catch  an  express  train  he  could 
not  gallop,  but  he  could  catch  the  train. 
So  Moti  Guj  was  at  the  planter's  door 
almost  before  Chihun  noticed  that  he  had 
left  his  pickets.  He  fell  into  Deesa's  arms 
trumpeting  with  joy,  and  the  man  and 
beast  wept  and  slobbered  over  each  other, 
and  handled  each  other  from  head  to  heel 
to  see  that  no  harm  had  befallen. 

"  Now  we  will  get  to  work,"  said  Deesa. 
"  Lift  me  up,  my  son  and  my  joy!  " 

Moti  Guj  swung  him  up,  and  the  two 
went  to  the  coffee-clearing  to  look  for  diffi- 
cult stumps. 

The  planter  was  too  astonished  to  be 
very  angry. 


THE  MUTINY  OF  THE 
MAVERICKS 


When  three  obscure  gentlemen  in  San 
Francisco  argued  on  insufficient  premises, 
they  condemned  a  fellow-creature  to  a  most 
unpleasant  death  in  a  far  country  which 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
United  States.  They  foregathered  at  the 
top  of  a  tenement-house  in  Tehama  Street, 
an  unsavory  quarter  of  the  city,  and  there 
calling  for  certain  drinks,  they  conspired 
because  they  were  conspirators  by  trade, 
officially  known  as  the  Third  Three  of  the 
I.  A.  A. —  an  institution  for  the  propaga- 
tion of  pure  light,  not  to  be  confounded 
with  any  others,  though  it  is  affiliated  to 
many.  The  Second  Three  live  in  Montreal 
and  work  among  the  poor  there;  the  First 
Three  have  their  home  in  New  York,  not 
far  from  Castle  Garden,  and  write  regularly 
once  a  week  to  a  small  house  near  one  of 
the  big  hotels  at  Boulogne.  What  happens 
after  that,  a  particular  section  of  Scotland 
82 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    8  3 

Yards  knows  too  well  and  laughs  at.  A 
conspirator  detests  ridicule.  More  men 
have  been  stabbed  with  Lucrezia  Borgia 
daggers  and  dropped  into  the  Thames  for 
laughing  at  head  centers  and  triangles  than 
for  betraying  secrets;  for  this  is  human 
nature. 

The  Third  Three  conspired  over  whisky 
cocktails  and  a  clean  sheet  of  note-paper 
against  the  British  Empire  and  all  that  lay 
therein.  This  work  is  very  like  what  men 
without  discernment  call  politics  before  a 
general  election.  You  pick  out  and  discuss 
in  the  company  of  congenial  friends  all  the 
weak  points  in  your  opponents'  organiza- 
tion, and  unconsciously  dwell  upon  and 
exaggerate  all  their  mishaps,  till  it  seems 
to  you  a  miracle  that  the  party  holds  to- 
gether for  an  hour. 

"  Our  principle  is  not  so  much  active 
demonstration  —  that  we  leave  to  others  — 
as  passive  embarrassment  to  weaken  and 
unnerve,"  said  the  first  man.  "  Wherever 
an  organization  is  crippled,  wherever  a  con- 
fusion is  thrown  into  any  branch  of  any 
department,  we  gain  a  step  for  those  who 
take  on  the  work;  we  are  but  the  forerun- 
ners." He  was  a  German  enthusiast,  and 
editor  of  a  newspaper,  from  whose  leading 
articles  he  quoted  frequently. 

"  That  cursed  empire  makes  so  many 
blunders  of  her  own  that  unless  we  doubled 


84  Mine  Own  People 

the  year's  average  I  guess  it  wouldn't  strike 
her  anything  special  had  occurred,"  said 
the  second  man.  "  Are  you  prepared  to 
say  that  all  our  resources  are  equal  to  blow- 
ing off  the  muzzle  of  a  hundred-ton  gun  or 
spiking  a  ten-thousand-ton  ship  on  a  plain 
rock  in  clear  daylight?  They  can  beat  us 
at  our  game.  Better  join  hands  with  the 
practical  branches;  we're  in  funds  now. 
Try  and  direct  a  scare  in  a  crowded  street. 
They  value  their  greasy  hides."  He  was 
the  drag  upon  the  wheel,  and  an  American- 
ized Irishman  of  the  second  generation,  de- 
spising his  own  race  and  hating  the  other. 
He  had  learned  caution. 

The  third  man  drank  his  cocktail  and 
spoke  no  word.  He  was  the  strategist,  but 
unfortunately  his  knowledge  of  life  was  lim- 
ited. He  picked  a  letter  from  his  breast- 
pocket and  threw  it  across  the  table.  That 
epistle  to  the  heathen  contained  some  very 
concise  directions  from  the  First  Three  in 
New  York.     It  said: 

"  The  boom  in  black  iron  has  already 
affected  the  eastern  markets,  where  our 
agents  have  been  forcing  down  the  Eng- 
lish-held stock  among  the  smaller  buyers 
who  watch  the  turn  of  shares.  Any  imme- 
diate operations,  such  as  western  bears, 
would  increase  their  willingness  to  unload. 
This,  however,  can  not  be  expected  till 
they  see  clearly  that  foreign   ironmasters 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     85 

are  willing  to  co-operate.  Mulcahy  should 
be  dispatched  to  feel  the  pulse  of  the  mar- 
ket, and  act  accordingly.  Mavericks  are 
at  present  the  best  for  our  purpose. — P. 
D.  Q." 

As  a  message  referring  to  an  iron  crisis 
in  Pennsylvania  it  was  interesting,  if  not 
lucid.  As  a  new  departure  in  organized 
attack  on  an  outlying  English  dependency, 
it  was  more  than  interesting. 

The  first  man  read  it  through,  and  mur- 
mured: 

"  Already?  Surely  they  are  in  too  great 
a  hurry.  All  that  Dhulip  Singh  could  do 
in  India  he  has  done,  down  to  the  distribu- 
tion of  his  photographs  among  the  peas- 
antry. Ho!  Ho!  The  Paris  firm  ar- 
ranged that,  and  he  has  no  substantial 
money  backing  from  the  Other  Power. 
Even  our  agents  in  India  know  he  hasn't. 
What  is  the  use  of  our  organization  wasting 
men  on  work  that  is  already  done?  Of 
course,  the  Irish  regiments  in  India  are 
half  mutinous  as  they  stand." 

This  shows  how  near  a  lie  may  come  to 
the  truth.  An  Irish  regiment,  for  just  so 
long  as  it  stands  still,  is  generally  a  hard 
handful  to  control,  being  reckless  and 
rough.  When,  however,  it  is  moved  in  the 
direction  of  musketry-fire,  it  becomes 
strangely  and  unpatriotically  content  with 
its  lot.     It  has  even  been  heard  to  cheer 


86  Mine  Own  People 

the  queen  with  enthusiasm  on  these  occa- 
sions. 

But  the  notion  of  tampering  with  the 
army  was,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
Tehama  Street,  an  altogether  sound  one. 
There  is  no  shadow  of  stability  in  the  pol- 
icy of  an  English  government,  and  the 
most  sacred  oaths  of  England  would,  even 
if  embossed  on  vellum,  find  very  few  buy- 
ers among  colonies  and  dependencies  that 
have  suffered  from  vain  beliefs.  But  there 
remains  to  England  always  her  army. 
That  can  not  change,  except  in  the  matter 
of  uniform  and  equipment.  The  officers 
may  write  to  the  papers  demanding  the 
heads  of  the  Horse  Guards  in  default  of 
cleaner  redress  for  grievances;  the  men 
may  break  loose  across  a  country  town, 
and  seriously  startle  the  publicans,  but 
neither  officers  nor  men  have  it  in  their 
composition  to  mutiny  after  the  Conti- 
nental manner.  The  English  people,  when 
they  trouble  to  think  about  the  army  at  all, 
are,  and  with  justice,  absolutely  assured 
that  it  is  absolutely  trustworthy.  Imagine 
for  a  moment  their  emotions  on  realizing 
that  such  and  such  a  regiment  was  in  open 
revolt  from  causes  directly  due  to  Eng- 
land's management  of  Ireland.  They 
would  probably  send  the  regiment  to  the 
polls  forthwith,  and  examine  their  own  con- 
sciences as  to  their  duty  to  Erin,  but  they 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    87 

would  never  be  easy  any  more.  And  it 
was  this  vague,  unhappy  mistrust  that  the 
I.  A.  A.  was  laboring  to  produce. 

"  Sheer  waste  of  breath,"  said  the  second 
man,  after  a  pause  in  the  council.  "  I  don't 
see  the  use  of  tampering  with  their  fool- 
army,  but  it  has  been  tried  before,  and  we 
must  try  it  again.  It  looks  well  in  the 
reports.  If  we  send  one  man  from  here, 
you  may  bet  your  life  that  other  men  are 
going   too.     Order   up   Mulcahy." 

They  ordered  him  up  —  a  slim,  slight, 
dark-haired  young  man,  devoured  with  that 
blind,  rancorous  hatred  of  England  that 
only  reaches  its  full  growth  across  the  At- 
lantic. He  had  sucked  it  from  his  mother's 
breast  in  the  little  cabin  at  the  back  of  the 
northern  avenues  of  New  York;  he  had 
been  taught  his  rights  and  his  wrongs,  in 
German  and  Irish,  on  the  canal  fronts  of 
Chicago;  and  San  Francisco  held  men  who 
told  him  strange  and  awful  things  of  the 
great  blind  power  over  the  seas.  Once, 
when  business  took  him  across  the  Atlan- 
tic, he  had  served  in  an  English  regiment, 
and  being  insubordinate,  had  suffered  ex- 
tremely. He  drew  all  his  ideas  of  England 
that  were  not  bred  by  the  cheaper  patriotic 
print,  from  one  iron-fisted  colonel  and  an 
unbending  adjutant.  He  would  go  to  the 
mines  if  need  be  to  teach  his  gospel.  And 
he  went  as  his  instructions  advised,  p.  d.  q. 


88  Mine  Own  People 

—  which  means  u  with  speed  " —  to  intro- 
duce embarrassment  into  an  Irish  regi- 
ment, "  already  half  mutinous,  quartered 
among  Sikh  peasantry,  all  wearing  minia- 
tures of  His  Highness  Dhulip  Singh,  Ma- 
haraja of  the  Punjab,  next  their  hearts,  and 
all  eagerly  expecting  his  arrival."  Other 
information  equally  valuable  was  given  him 
by  his  masters.  He  was  to  be  cautious, 
but  never  to  grudge  expense  in  winning  the 
hearts  of  the  men  in  the  regiment.  His 
mother  in  New  York  would  supply  Rinds, 
and  he  was  to  write  to  her  once  a  month. 
Life  is  pleasant  for  a  man  who  has  a  mother 
in  Xew  York  to  send  him  £200  a  year  over 
and  above  his  regimental  pay. 

In  process  of  time,  thanks  to  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  drill  and  musketry  exercise, 
the  excellent  Mulcahy,  wearing  the  cor- 
poral's stripe,  went  out  in  a  troop-ship  and 
joined  Her  Majesty's  Royal  Loyal  Mus- 
keteers, commonly  known  as  the  "  Mav- 
ericks," because  they  were  masterless  and 
unbranded  cattle  —  sons  of  small  farmers 
in  County  Clare,  shoeless  vagabonds  of 
Kerry,  herders  of  Ballyvegan,  much 
wanted  "  moonlighters "  from  the  bare 
rainy  headlands  of  the  south  coast,  officered 
by  O'Mores,  Bradys,  Hills,  Kilreas,  and 
the  like.  Never,  to  outward  seeming,  was 
there  more  promising  material  to  work  on. 
The  First  Three  had  chosen  their  regiment 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    89 

well.  It  feared  nothing  that  moved  or 
talked  save  the  colonel  and  the  regimental 
Roman  Catholic  chaplain,  the  fat  Father 
Dennis,  who  held  the  keys  of  heaven  and 
hell,  and  glared  like  an  angry  bull  when 
he  desired  to  be  convincing.  Him  also 
it  loved  because  on  occasions  of  stress  he 
was  wont  to  tuck  up  his  cassock  and  charge 
with  the  rest  into  the  merriest  of  the  fray, 
where  he  always  found,  good  man,  that 
the  saints  sent  him  a  revolver  when  there 
was  a  fallen  private  to  be  protected  or  — 
but  this  came  as  an  after-thought  —  his 
own  gray  head  to  be  guarded. 

Cautiously  as  he  had  been  instructed,  ten- 
derly and  with  much  beer,  Mulcahy  opened 
his  projects  to  such  as  he  deemed  fittest  to 
listen.  And  these  were,  one  and  all,  of  that 
quaint,  crooked,  sweet,  profoundly  irre- 
sponsible, and  profoundly  lovable  race  that 
fight  like  fiends,  argue  like  children,  reason 
like  women,  obey  like  men,  and  jest  like 
their  own  goblins  of  the  wrath  through  re- 
bellion, loyalty,  want,  woe,  or  war.  The 
underground  work  of  a  conspiracy  is  al- 
ways dull,  and  very  much  the  same  the 
world  over.  At  the  end  of  six  months  — 
the  seed  always  falling  on  good  ground  — 
Mulcahy  spoke  almost  explicitly,  hinting 
darkly  in  the  approved  fashion  at  dread 
powers  behind  him,  and  advising  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  mutiny.     Were  they  not 


90  Mine  Own  People 

dogs,  evilly  treated?  had  they  not  all  their 
own  and  the  natural  revenges  to  satisfy? 
Who  in  these  days  could  do  aught  to  nine 
hundred  men  in  rebellion?  who,  again, 
could  stay  them  if  they  broke  for  the  sea, 
licking  up  on  their  way  other  regiments 
only  too  anxious  to  join?  And  afterward 
.  .  .  here  followed  windy  promises  of 
gold  and  preferment,  office  and  honor,  ever 
dear  to  a  certain  type  of  Irishman. 

As  he  finished  his  speech,  in  the  dusk 
of  a  twilight,  to  his  chosen  associates,  there 
was  a  sound  of  a  rapidly  unslung  belt  be- 
hind him.  The  arm  of  one  Dan  Grady 
flew  out  in  the  gloom  and  arrested  some- 
thing.    Then  said  Dan: 

"  Mulcahy,  you're  a  great  man,  an'  you 
do  credit  to  whoever  sent  you.  Walk  about 
a  bit  while  we  think  of  it."  Mulcahy  de- 
parted elated.  He  knew  his  words  would 
sink  deep. 

"  Why  the  triple-dashed  asterisks  did  ye 
not  let  me  curl  the  tripes  out  of  him?" 
grunted  a  voice. 

"  Because  I'm  not  a  fat-headed  fool. 
Boys,  'tis  what  he's  been  driving  at  these 
six  months —  our  superior  corpril,  with 
his  education,  and  his  copies  of  the  Irish 
papers,  and  his  everlasting  beer.  He's 
been  sent  for  the  purpose,  and  that's  where 
the  money  comes  from.  Can  ye  not  see? 
That    man's    a    gold-mine,    which    Horse 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    91 

Egan  here  would  have  destroyed  with  a 
belt-buckle.  It  would  be  throwing  away 
the  gifts  of  Providence  not  to  fall  in  with 
his  little  plans.  Of  course  we'll  mutiny  till 
all's  dry.  Shoot  the  colonel  on  the  parade- 
ground,  massacre  the  company  officers, 
ransack  the  arsenal,  and  then  —  bOys,  did 
he  tell  you  what  next?  He  told  me  the 
other  night,  when  he  was  beginning  to  talk 
wild.  Then  we're  to  join  with  the  niggers, 
and  look  for  help  from  Dhulip  Singh  and 
the  Russians!  " 

"  And  spoil  the  best  campaign  that  ever 
was  this  side  of  hell!  Danny,  I'd  have  lost 
the  beer  to  ha'  given  him  the  belting  he 
requires." 

"  Oh,  let  him  go  this  awhile,  man!  He's 
got  no  —  no  constructiveness ;  but  that's 
the  egg-meat  of  his  plan,  and  you  must 
understand  that  I'm  in  with  it,  an'  so  are 
you.  We'll  want  oceans  of  beer  to  con- 
vince us  —  firmaments  full.  We'll  give  him 
talk  for  his  money,  and  one  by  one  all  the 
boys'll  come  in,  and  he'll  have  a  nest  of 
nine  hundred  mutineers  to  squat  in  an'  give 
drink  to." 

"  What  makes  me  killing  mad  is  his 
wanting  us  to  do  what  the  niggers  did 
thirty  years  gone.  That  an'  his  pig's  cheek 
in  saying  that  other  regiments  would  come 
along,"  said  a  Kerry  man. 


92  Mine  Own  People 

u  That's  not  so  bad  as  hintin'  we  should 
loose  off  at  the  colonel. 

"  Colonel  be  sugared!  I'd  as  soon  as 
not  put  a  shot  through  his  helmet,  to  see 
him  jump  and  clutch  his  old  horse's  head. 
But  Mulcahy  talks  o'  shootin'  our  comp'ny 
orf'cers  accidental." 

"  He  said  that,  did  he?"  said  Horse 
Egan. 

"  Somethin'  like  that,  anyways.  Can't 
ye  fancy  ould  Barber  Brady  wid  a  bullet 
in  his  lungs,  coughin'  like  a  sick  monkey 
an'  savin':  '  Bhoys,  I  do  not  mind  your 
gettin'  dhrunk,  but  you  must  hould  your 
liquor  like  men.  The  man  that  shot  me 
is  dhrunk.  I'll  suspend  investigations  for 
six  hours,  while  I  get  this  bullet  cut  out, 
and  then 

"  An'  then,"  continued  Horse  Egan,  for 
the  peppery  major's  peculiarities  of  speech 
and  manner  were  as  well  known  as  his 
tanned  face — "an'  then,  ye  dissolute,  half- 
baked,  putty-faced  scum  o'  Connemara,  if 
I  find  a  man  so  much  as  lookin'  confused, 
bedad  I'll  coort-martial  the  whole  com- 
pany. A  man  that  can't  get  over  his  liquor 
in  six  hours  is  not  fit  to  belong  to  the 
Mavericks!  " 

A  shout  of  laughter  bore  witness  to  the 
truth  of  the  sketch. 

"  It's  pretty  to  think  of,"  said  the  Kerry 
man  slowly.     "  Mulcahy  would  have  us  do 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    93 

all  the  devilment,  and  get  clear  himself, 
someways.  He  wudn't  be  takin'  all  this 
fool's  throuble  in  shpoilin'  the  reputation 
of  the  regiment." 

"  Reputation  of  your  grandmother's 
pig!  "  said  Dan. 

"  Well,  an'  he  had  a  good  reputation,  too; 
so  it's  all  right.  Mulcahy  must  see  his  way 
clear  out  behind  him,  or  he'd  not  ha'  come 
so  far,  talkin'  powers  of  darkness." 

"  Did  you  hear  anything  of  a  regimental 
court-martial  among  the  Black  Boneens, 
these  days?  Half  a  company  of  'em  took 
one  of  the  new  draft  an'  hanged  him  by 
his  arms  with  a  tent-rope  from  a  third-story 
veranda.  They  gave  no  reason  for  so  do- 
in',  but  he  wLs  half  head.  I'm  thinking 
that  the  Boneens  are  short-sighted.  It  was 
a  friend  of  Mulcahy's,  or  a  man  in  the  same 
trade.  They'd  a  deal  better  ha'  taken  his 
beer,"  returned  Dan,  reflectively. 

"  Better  still  ha'  handed  him  up  to  the 
colonel,"  said  Horse  Egan,  "  onless  —  But 
sure  the  news  wud  be  all  over  the  counthry 
an'  give  the  reg'ment  a  bad  name." 

"  An'  there'd  be  no  reward  for  that  man 
—  but  he  went  about  talkin',"  said  the 
Kerry  man,  artlessly. 

"  You  speak  by  your  breed,"  said  Dan, 
with  a  laugh.  "  There  was  never  a  Kerry 
man  yet  that  wudn't  sell  his  brother  for  a 


94  Mine  Own  People 

pipe  o'  tobacco  an'  a  pat  on  the  back  from 
a  policeman." 

"  Thank  God  I'm  not  a  bloomin'  Orange- 
man," was  the  answer. 

"  No,  nor  never  will  be,"  said  Dan. 
"  They  breed  men  in  Ulster.  Would  you 
like  to  thry  the  taste  of  one?" 

The  Kerry  man  looked  and  longed,  but 
forebore.  The  odds  of  battle  were  too 
great. 

"Then  you'll  not  even  give  Mulcahy  a 
—  a  strike  for  his  money,"  said  the  voice 
of  Horse  Egan,  who  regarded  what  he 
called  "  trouble  "  of  any  kind  as  the  pin- 
nacle of  felicity. 

Dan  answered  not  at  all,  but  crept  on 
tiptoe,  with  large  strides,  to  the  mess-room, 
the  men  following.  The  room  was  empty. 
In  a  corner,  cased  like  the  King  of  Da- 
homey's state  umbrella,  stood  the  regi- 
mental colors.  Dan  lifted  them  tenderly, 
and  unrolled  in  the  light  of  the  candles  the 
record  of  the  Mavericks  —  tattered,  worn, 
and  hacked.  The  white  satin  was  darkened 
everywhere  with  big  brown  stains,  the  gold 
threads  on  the  crowned  harp  were  frayed 
and  discolored,  and  the  red  bull,  the  totem 
of  the  Mavericks,  was  coffee-hued.  The 
stiff,  embroidered  folds,  whose  price  is 
human  life,  rustled  down  slowly.  The 
Mavericks  keep  their  colors  long  and 
guard  them  very  sacredly. 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    95 

"  Vittoria,  Salamanca,  Toulouse,  Water- 
loo, Moodkee,  Ferozshah,  and  Sobraon  — 
that  was  fought  close  next  door  here, 
against  the  very  beggars  he  wants  us  to 
join.  Inkermann,  the  Alma,  Sebastopol! 
What  are  those  little  businesses  compared 
to  the  campaigns  of  General  Mulcahy? 
The  mut'ny,  think  o'  that;  the  mut'ny  an' 
some  dirty  little  matters  in  Afghanistan, 
and  for  that  an'  these  and  those  " —  Dan 
pointed  to  the  names  of  glorious  battles  — 
"  that  Yankee  man  with  the  partin'  in  his 
hair  comes  and  says  as  easy  as  ■  have  a 
drink'  .  .  .  Holy  Moses!  there's  the 
captain !  " 

But  it  was  the  mess-sergeant  who  came 
in  just  as  the  men  clattered  out,  and  found 
the  colors  uncased. 

From  that  day  dated  the  mutiny  of  the 
Mavericks,  to  the  joy  of  Mulcahy  and  the 
pride  of  his  mother  in  New  York  —  the 
good  lady  who  sent  the  money  for  the 
beer.  Never,  as  far  as  words  went,  was 
such  a  mutiny.  The  conspirators,  led  by 
Dan  Grady  and  Horse  Egan,  poured  in 
daily.  They  were  sound  men,  men  to  be 
trusted,  and  they  all  wanted  blood;  but  first 
they  must  have  beer.  They  cursed  the 
queen,  they  mourned  over  Ireland,  they 
suggested  hideous  plunder  of  the  Indian 
country-side,  and  then,  alas!  some  of  the 
younger  men  would  go  forth  and  wallow 


96  Mine  Own  People 

on  the  ground  in  spasms  of  unholy  laugh- 
ter. The  genius  of  the  Irish  for  conspira- 
cies is  remarkable.  None  the  less,  they 
would  swear  no  oaths  but  those  of  their 
own  making,  which  were  rare  and  curious, 
and  they  were  always  at  pains  to  impress 
Mulcahy  with  the  risks  they  ran.  Natur- 
ally the  Mood  of  beer  wrought  demoraliza- 
tion. But  Mulcahy  confused  the  causes  of 
things,  and  when  a  pot-valiant  Maverick 
smote  a  servant  on  the  nose  or  called  his 
commanding  officer  a  bald-headed  old  lard- 
bladder,  and  even  worse  names,  he  fancied 
that  rebellion  and  not  liquor  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  outbreak.  Other  gentlemen 
who  have  concerned  themselves  in  larger 
conspiracies  have  made  the  same  error. 

The  hot  season,  in  which  they  protested 
no  man  could  rebel,  came  to  an  end,  and 
Mulcahy  suggested  a  visible  return  for  his 
teachings.  As  to  the  actual  upshot  of  the 
mutiny  he  cared  nothing.  It  would  be 
enough  if  the  English,  infatuatedly  trust- 
ing to  the  integrity  of  their  army, 
should  be  startled  with  news  of  an 
Irish  regiment  revolting  from  politi- 
cal considerations.  His  persistent  de- 
mands would  have  ended,  at  Dan's  instiga- 
tion, in  a  regimental  belting  which  in  all 
probability  would  have  killed  him  and  cut 
off  the  supply  of  beer,  had  not  he  been 
sent  on  special  duty  some  fifty  miles  away 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     97 

from  the  cantonment  to  cool  his  heels  in 
a  mud  fort  and  dismount  obsolete  artillery. 
Then  the  colonel  of  the  Mavericks,  read- 
ing his  newspaper  diligently  and  scenting 
frontier  trouble  from  afar,  posted  to  the 
army  headquarters  and  pleaded  with  the 
commander-in-chief  for  certain  privileges, 
to  be  granted  under  certain  contingencies; 
which  contingencies  came  about  only  a 
week  later  when  the  annual  little  war  on 
the  border  developed  itself  and  the  colonel 
returned  to  carry  the  good  news  to  the 
Mavericks.  He  held  the  promise  of  the 
chief  for  active  service,  and  the  men  must 
get  ready. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Mul- 
cahy,  an  unconsidered  corporal  —  yet  great 
in  conspiracy  —  returned  to  cantonments, 
and  heard  sounds  of  strife  and  howlings 
from  afar  off.  The  mutiny  had  broken  out, 
and  the  barracks  of  the  Mavericks  were  one 
whitewashed  pandemonium.  A  private 
tearing  through  the  barrack  square  gasped 
in  his  ear:  "Service!  Active  service! 
It's  a  burnin'  shame."  Oh,  joy,  the  Mav- 
ericks had  risen  on  the  eve  of  battle! 
They  would  not  —  noble  and  loyal  sons  of 
Ireland!  —  serve  the  queen  longer.  The 
news  would  flash  through  the  country-side 
and  over  to  England,  and  he  —  Mulcahy  — 
the  trusted  of  the  Third  Three,  had  brought 
about  the  crash.     The  private  stood  in  the 


98  Mine  Own  People 

middle  of  the  square  and  cursed  colonel, 
regiment,  officers,  and  doctor,  particularly 
the  doctor,  by  his  gods.  An  orderly  of  the 
native  cavalry  regiment  clattered  through 
the  mob  of  soldiers.  He  was  half  lifted, 
half  dragged  from  his  horse,  beaten  on  the 
back  with  mighty  hand-claps  till  his  eyes 
watered,  and  called  all  manner  of  endear- 
ing names.  Yes,  the  Mavericks  had  frater- 
nized with  the  native  troops.  Who,  then, 
was  the  agent  among  the  latter  that  had 
blindly  wrought  with  Mulcahy  so  well? 

An  officer  slunk,  almost  ran,  from  the 
mess  to  a  barrack.  He  was  mobbed  by  the 
infuriated  soldiery,  who  closed  round  but 
did  not  kill  him,  for  he  fought  his  way  to 
shelter,  flying  for  his  life.  Mulcahy  could 
have  wept  with  pure  joy  and  thankfulness. 
The  very  prisoners  in  the  guard-room  were 
shaking  the  bars  of  their  cells  and  howling 
like  wild  beasts,  and  from  every  barrack 
poured  the  booming  as  of  a  big  war-drum. 

Mulcahy  hastened  to  his  own  barrack. 
He  could  hardly  hear  himself  speak. 
Eighty  men  were  pounding  with  fist  and 
heel  the  tables  and  trestles  —  eighty  men 
flushed  with  mutiny,  stripped  to  their  shirt- 
sleeves, their  knapsacks  half-packed  for  the 
march  to  the  sea,  made  the  two-inch  boards 
thunder  again  as  they  chanted  to  a  tune 
that  Mulcahy  knew  well,  the  Sacred  War 
Song  of  the  Mavericks: 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     99 

11  Listen  in  the  north,  ray  boys,  there's  trouble  on 

the  wind; 
Tramp  o'  Cossacks  hoofs  in  front,  gray  great-coats 

behind, 
Trouble  on  the  frontier  of  a  most  amazin'  kind, 
Trouble  on  the  water  o'  the  Oxus!  " 

Then  as  a  table  broke  under  the  furious 
accompaniment: 

'*  Hurrah!  hurrah!  its  north  by  west  we  go; 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  the  chance  we  wanted  so; 
Let  'em  hear  the  chorus  from  Umballa  to  Moscow, 
As  we  go  marching  to  the  Kremlin." 

"  Mother  of  all  the  saints  in  bliss  and  all 
the  devils  in  cinders,  where' s  my  fine  new 
sock  widout  the  heel?"  howled  Horse 
Egan,  ransacking  everybody's  knapsack 
but  his  own.  He  was  engaged  in  making 
up  deficiencies  of  kit  preparatory  to  a  cam- 
paign, and  in  that  employ  he  steals  best 
who  steals  last.  "Ah,  Mulcahy,  you're  in 
good  time,"  he  shouted.  "  We've  got  the 
route,  and  we're  off  on  Thursday  for  a  pic- 
nic wid  the  Lancers  next  door." 

An  ambulance  orderly  appeared  with  a 
huge  basket  full  of  lint  rolls,  provided  by 
the  forethought  of  the  queen,  for  such  as 
might  need  them  later  on.  Horse  Egan 
unrolled  his  bandage  and  flicked  it  under 
Mulcahy's  nose,  chanting: 

14  'Sheep's  skin  an'  bees'-wax,  thunder,  pitch  and 

plaster; 
The  more  you  try  to  pull  it  off,  the  more  it  sticks 

the  faster, 
As  I  was  goin'  to  New  Orleans ' 


ioo         Mine  Own  People 

You  know  the  rest  of  it,  my  Irish-Ameri- 
can-Jew  boy.  By  gad,  ye  have  to  fight  for 
the  queen  in  the  inside  av  a  fortnight,  my 
darlinV 

A  roar  of  laughter  interrupted.  Mul- 
cahy  looked  vacantly  down  the  room.  Bid 
a  boy  defy  his  father  when  the  pantomime- 
cab  is  at  the  door,  or  a  girl  develop  a  will 
of  her  own  when  her  mother  is  putting  the 
last  touches  to  the  first  ball-dress,  but  do 
not  ask  an  Irish  regiment  to  embark  upon 
mutiny  on  the  eve  of  a  campaign;  when  it 
has  fraternized  with  the  native  regiment 
that  accompanies  it,  and  driven  its  officers 
into  retirement  with  ten  thousand  clamor- 
ous questions,  and  the  prisoners  dance  for 
joy,  and  the  sick  men  stand  in  the  open, 
calling  down  all  known  diseases  on  the 
head  of  the  doctor  who  has  certified  that 
they  are  "  medically  unfit  for  active  ser- 
vice." And  even  the  Mavericks  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  mutineers  by  one 
so  unversed  in  their  natures  as  Mulcahy. 
At  dawn  a  girls'  school  might  have  learned 
deportment  from  them.  They  knew  that 
their  colonel's  hand  had  closed,  and  that 
he  who  broke  that  iron  discipline  would 
not  go  to  the  front.  Nothing  in  the  world 
will  persuade  one  of  our  soldiers  when  he 
is  ordered  to  the  north  on  the  smallest  of 
affairs,  that  he  is  not  immediately  going 
gloriously  to  slay  Cossacks  and  cook  his 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     101 

kettles  in  the  palace  of  the  czar.  A  few 
of  the  younger  men  mourned  for  Mulcahy's 
beer,  because  the  campaign  was  to  be  con- 
ducted on  strict  temperance  principles,  but, 
as  Dan  and  Horse  Egan  said  sternly: 
"  We've  got  the  beerman  with  us ;  he  shall 
drink  now  on  his  own  hook." 

Mulcahy  had  not  taken  into  account  the 
possibility  of  being  sent  on  active  service. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  go  under  any  circumstances;  but  for- 
tune was  against  him. 

°  Sick  —  you?  "  said  the  doctor,  who  had 
served  an  unholy  apprenticeship  to  his 
trade  in  Tralee  poor-houses.  "  You're  only 
homesick,  and  what  you  call  varicose  veins 
come  from  overeating.  A  little  gentle  ex- 
ercise will  cure  that."  And  later :  "  Mul- 
cahy, my  man,  everybody  is  allowed  to  ap- 
ply for  a  sick  certificate  once.  If  he  tries 
it  twice,  we  call  him  by  an  ugly  name.  Go 
back  to  your  duty,  and  let's  hear  no  more 
of  your  diseases." 

I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  Horse  Egan 
enjoyed  the  study  of  Mulcahy's  soul  in 
I  those  days,  and  Dan  took  an  equal  interest. 
Together  they  would  communicate  to  their 
corporal  all  the  dark  lore  of  death  that  is 
the  portion  of  those  who  have  seen  men 
die.  Egan  had  the  larger  experience,  but 
Dan  the  finer  imagination.  Mulcahy  shiv- 
ered when  the  former  spoke  of  the  knife 


102         Mine  Own  People 

as  an  intimate  acquaintance,  or  the  latter 
dwelt  with  loving  particularity  on  the  fate 
of  those  who,  wounded  and  helpless,  had 
been  overlooked  by  the  ambulances,  and 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Afghan 
women-folk. 

Mulcahy  knew  that  the  mutiny,  for  the 
present  at  least,  was  dead.  Knew,  too, 
that  a  change  had  come  over  Dan's  usually 
respectful  attitude  toward  him,  and  Horse 
Egan's  laughter  and  frequent  allusions  to 
abortive  conspiracies  emphasized  all  that 
the  conspirator  had  guessed.  The  horrible 
fascination  of  the  death-stories,  however, 
made  him  seek  their  society.  He  learned 
much  more  than  he  had  bargained  for;  and 
in  this  manner.  It  was  on  the  last  night 
before  the  regiment  entrained  to  the  front. 
The  barracks  were  stripped  of  everything 
movable,  and  the  men  were  too  excited  to 
sleep.  The  bare  walls  gave  out  a  heavy 
hospital  smell  of  chloride  of  lime  —  a 
stench  that  depresses  the  soul. 

"  And  what,"  said  Mulcahy  in  an  awe- 
stricken  whisper,  after  some  conversation 
on  the  eternal  subject,  "  are  you  going  to 
do  to  me,  Dan?"  This  might  have  been 
the  language  of  an  able  conspirator  con- 
ciliating a  weak  spirit. 

"  You'll  see,"  said  Dan,  grimly,  turning 
over  in  his  cot,  "  or  I  rather  shud  say  you'll 
not  see." 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks    103 

This  was  hardly  the  language  of  a  weak 
spirit.  Mulcahy  shook  under  the  bed- 
clothes. 

"  Be  easy  with  him,"  put  in  Egan  from 
the  next  cot.  "  He  has  got  his  chanst  o' 
goin'  clean.  Listen,  Mulcahy:  all  we  want 
is  for  the  good  sake  of  the  regiment  that 
you  take  your  death  standing  up,  as  a  man 
shud.  There  be  heaps  an'  heaps  of  enemy 
—  plenshus  heaps.  Go  there  an'  do  all  you 
can  and  die  decent.  You'll  die  with  a 
good  name  there.  'Tis  not  a  hard  thing 
considerin'." 

Again  Mulcahy  shivered. 

"  And  how  could  a  man  wish  to  die  bet- 
ter than  fightin'?  "  added  Dan,  consolingly. 

"And  if  I  won't?"  said  the  corporal  in 
a  dry  whisper. 

"  There'll  be  a  dale  of  smoke,"  returned 
Dan,  sitting  up  and  ticking  off  the  situa- 
tion on  his  fingers,  "  sure  to  be,  an'  the 
noise  of  the  firin'  '11  be  tremenjus,  an'  we'll 
be  running  about  up  and  down,  the  regi- 
ment will.  But  we,  Horse  and  I  —  we'll 
stay  by  you,  Mulcahy,  and  never  let  you 
go.     Maybe  there'll  be  an  accident." 

"  It's  playing  it  low  on  me.  Let  me  go. 
For  pity's  sake,  let  me  go!  I  never  did 
you  harm,  and  —  and  I  stood  you  as  much 
beer  as  I  could.  Oh,  don't  be  hard  on 
me,  Dan !  You  are  —  you  were  in  it,  too. 
You  won't  kill  me  up  there,  will  you?" 


104         Mine  Own  People 

"  I'm  not  thinkin'  of  the  treason;  though 
you  shud  be  glad  any  honest  boys  drank 
with  you.  It's  for  the  regiment.  We 
can't  have  the  shame  o'  you  bringin' 
shame  on  us.  You  went  to  the  doctor 
quiet  as  a  sick  cat  to  get  and  stay  behind 
an'  live  with  the  women  at  the  depot  — 
you  that  wanted  us  to  run  to  the  sea  in 
wolf-packs  like  the  rebels  none  of  your 
black  blood  dared  to  be!  But  we  knew 
about  your  goin'  to  the  doctor,  for  he  told 
it  in  mess,  and  it's  all  over  the  regiment. 
Bern'  as  we  are  your  best  friends,  we  didn't 
allow  any  one  to  molest  you  yet.  We  will 
see  to  you  ourselves.  Fight  which  you 
will  —  us  or  the  enemy  —  you'll  never  lie 
in  that  cot  again,  and  there's  more  glory 
and  maybe  less  kicks  from  fighting  the 
enemy.     That's  fair  speakinV 

"  And  he  told  us  by  word  of  mouth  to  go 
and  join  with  the  niggers  —  you've  forgot- 
ten that,  Dan,"  said  Horse  Egan,  to  justify 
sentence. 

"  What's  the  use  of  plaguin'  the  man? 
One  shot  pays  for  all.  Sleep  ye  sound, 
Mulcahv.  But  you  onderstand,  do  ye 
not?" 

Mulcahv  for  some  weeks  understood 
very  little  of  anything  at  all  save  that  ever 
at  his  elbow,  in  camp,  or  at  parade,  stood 
two  big  men  with  soft  voices  adjuring  him 
to   commit   hart  kari   lest   a   worse   thing 


Mutiny  cf  the  Mavericks    105 

should  happen  —  to  die  for  the  honor  of 
the  regiment  in  decency  among  the  nearest 
knives.  But  Mulcahy  dreaded  death.  He 
remembered  certain  things  that  priests  had 
said  in  his  infancy,  and  his  mother  —  not 
the  one  at  New  York  —  starting  from  her 
sleep  with  shrieks  to  pray  for  a  husband's 
soul  in  torment.  It  is  well  to  be  of  a  cul- 
tured intelligence,  but  in  time  of  trouble  the 
weak  human  mind  returns  to  the  creed  it 
sucked  in  at  the  breast,  and  if  that  creed 
be  not  a  pretty  one,  trouble  follows.  Also, 
the  death  he  would  have  to  face  would  be 
physically  painful.  Most  conspirators  have 
large  imaginations.  Mulcahy  could  see 
himself,  as  he  lay  on  the  earth  in  the  night, 
dying  by  various  causes.  They  were  all 
horrible;  the  mother  in  New  York  was  very 
far  away,  and  the  regiment,  the  engine  that, 
once  you  fall  in  its  grip,  moves  you  forward 
whether  you  will  or  won't,  was  daily  com- 
ing closer  to  the  enemy! 


They  were  brought  to  the  field  of  Mar- 
zun-Katai,  and  with  the  Black  Boneens  to 
aid,  they  fought  a  fight  that  has  never  been 
set  down  in  the  newspapers.  In  response, 
many  believe,  to  the  fervent  prayers  of 
Father  Dennis,  the  enemy  not  only  elected 
to  fight  in  the  open,  but  made  a  beautiful 
fight,  as  many  weeping  Irish  mothers  knew 


106         Mine  Own  People 

later.  They  gathered  behind  walls  or  flick- 
ered across  the  open  in  shouting  masses, 
and  were  pot-valiant  in  artillery.  It  was 
expedient  to  hold  a  large  reserve  and  wait 
for  the  psychological  moment  that  was  be- 
ing prepared  by  the  shrieking  shrapnel. 
Therefore  the  Mavericks  lay  down  in  open 
order  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  to  watch  the 
play  till  their  call  should  come.  Father 
Dennis,  whose  place  was  in  the  rear,  to 
smooth  the  trouble  of  the  wounded,  had 
naturally  managed  to  make  his  way  to  the 
foremost  of  his  boys,  and  lay,  like  a  black 
porpoise,  at  length  on  the  grass.  To  him 
crawled  Mulcahy,  ashen-gray,  demanding 
absolution. 

"  Wait  till  you're  shot,"  said  Father  Den- 
nis, sweetly.  "  There's  a  time  for  every- 
thing." 

Dan  Grady  chuckled  as  he  blew  for  the 
fiftieth  time  into  the  breech  of  his  speckless 
rifle.  Mulcahy  groaned  and  buried  his 
head  in  his  arms  till  a  stray  shot  spoke  like 
a  snipe  immediately  above  his  head,  and  a 
general  heave  and  tremor  rippled  the  line. 
Other  shots  followed,  and  a  few  took  effect, 
as  a  shriek  or  a  grunt  attested.  The  offi- 
cers, who  had  been  lying  down  with  the 
men,  rose  and  began  to  walk  steadily  up 
and  down  the  front  of  their  companies. 

This  maneuver,  executed  not  for  publi- 
cation, but  as  a  guarantee  of  good  faith,  to 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     107 

soothe  men,  demands  nerve.  You  must 
not  hurry,  you  must  not  look  nervous, 
though  you  know  that  you  are  a  mark  for 
•every  rifle  within  extreme  range;  and, 
above  all,  if  you  are  smitten  you  must  make 
as  little  noise  as  possible  and  roll  inward 
through  the  files.  It  is  at  this  hour,  when 
the  breeze  brings  the  first  salt  whiff  of  the 
powder  to  noses  rather  cold  at  the  tips,  and 
the  eye  can  quietly  take  in  the  appearance 
of  each  red  casualty,  that  the  strain  on  the 
nerves  is  strongest.  Scotch  regiments  can 
endure  for  half  a  day,  and  abate  no  whit  of 
their  zeal  at  the  end;  English  regiments 
sometimes  sulk  under  punishment,  while 
the  Irish,  like  the  French,  are  apt  to  run 
forward  by  ones  and  twos,  which  is  just 
as  bad  as  running  back.  The  truly  wise 
commandant  of  highly  strung  troops  allows 
them  in  seasons  of  waiting  to  hear  the 
sound  of  their  own  voices  uplifted  in  song. 
There  is  a  legend  of  an  English  regiment 
that  lay  by  its  arms  under  fire  chanting 
"  Sam  Hall,"  to  the  horror  of  its  newly 
appointed  and  pious  colonel.  The  Black 
Boneens,  who  were  suffering  more  than  the 
Mavericks,  on  a  hill  half  a  mile  away,  began 
presently  to  explain  to  all  who  cared  to 
listen: 
"  We'll  sound  the  jubilee,  from  the  center  to  the 

S63. 

And  Ireland    shall  be  free,   says  the  Shan- van  - 
Voght." 


108  Mine  Own  People 

"  Sing,  boys,''  said  Father  Dennis,  softly. 
"  It  looks  as  if  we  cared  for  their  Afghan 
peas." 

Dan  Grady  raised  himself  to  his  knees 
and  opened  his  mouth  in  a  song  imparted 
to  him,  as  to  most  of  his  comrades,  in  the 
strictest  confidence  by  Mulcahy  —  that 
Mulcahy  then  lying  limp  and  fainting  on 
the  grass,  the  chill  fear  of  death  upon  him. 

Company  after  company  caught  up  the 
words  which,  the  I.  A.  A.  say,  are  to  herald 
the  general  rising  of  Erin,  and  to  breathe 
which,  except  to  those  duly  appointed  to 
hear,  is  death.  Wherefore  they  are  printed 
in  this  place: 

"The  Saxon  in  heaven's  just  balance  is  weighed, 

His  doom,  like  Belshazzar's,  in  death  has  been 

cast. 

And  the  hand  of  the  'venger  shall  never  be  stayed 

Till  his  race,  faith,  and  speech  are  a  dream  of 

the  past." 

They  were  heart-filling  lines,  and  they 
ran  with  a  swirl;  the  J.  A.  A.  are  better 
served  by  pens  than  their  petards.  Dan 
clapped  Mulcahy  merrily  on  the  back,  ask- 
ing him  to  sing  up.  The  officers  lay  down 
again.  There  was  no  need  to  walk  any 
more.  Their  men  were  soothing  them- 
selves, thunderously,  thus: 

"  St.  Mary  in  heaven  has  written  the  vow 

That  the  land  shall  not  rest  till  the  heretic 
blood, 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     109 

From  the  babe  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the 
plow,  • 

Has  rolled  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood!  " 

"  I'll  speak  to  you  after  all's  over,"  said 
Father  Dennis,  authoritatively,  in  Dan's 
ear.  "  What's  the  use  of  confessing  to  me 
when  you  do  this  foolishness?  Dan,  you've 
been  playing  with  fire!  I'll  lay  you  more 
penance  in  a  week  than  — " 

"  Come  along  to  purgatory  with  us, 
father,  dear.  The  Boneens  are  on  the 
move:  they'll  let  us  go  now!  " 

The  regiment  rose  to  the  blast  of  the 
bugle  as  one  man;  but  one  man  there  was 
who  rose  more  swiftly  than  all  the  others, 
for  half  an  inch  of  bayonet  was  in  the  fleshy 
part  of  his  leg. 

'"'  You've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Dan,  grimly. 
"  Do  it  decent,  anyhow;  "  and  the  roar  of 
the  rush  drowned  his  words  as  the  rear 
companies  thrust  forward  the  first,  still 
singing  as  they  swung  down  the  slope : 

1  From  the  child  at  the  breast  to  the  hand  at  the 

plow 
Has  rolled  to  the  ocean  like  Shannon  in  flood!  " 

They  should  have  sung  it  in  the  face  of 
England,  not  of  the  Afghans,  whom  it  im- 
pressed as  much  as  did  the  wild  Irish  yell. 

"  They  came  down  singing,"  said  the  un- 
official report  of  the  enemy,  borne  from 
village  to  village  next  day.  "  They  con- 
tinued to  sing,  and  it  was  written  that  our 


iio         Mine  Own  People 

men  could  not  abide  when  they  came.  It 
is  believed  that  there  was  magic  in  the 
aforesaid  song." 

Dan  and  Horse  Egan  kept  themselves  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Mulcahy.  Twice  the 
man  would  have  bolted  back  in  the  confu- 
sion. Twice  he  was  heaved  like  a  half- 
drowned  kitten  into  the  unpaintable  inferno 
of  a  hotly  contested  charge. 

At  the  end,  the  panic  excess  of  his  fear 
drove  him  into  madness  beyond  all  human 
courage.  His  eyes  staring  at  nothing,  his 
mouth  open  and  frothing,  and  breathing 
as  one  in  a  cold  bath,  he  went  forward  de- 
mented, while  Dan  toiled  after  him.  The 
charge  was  checked  at  a  high  mud  wall. 
It  was  Mulcahy  that  scrambled  up  tooth 
and  nail  and  heaved  down  among  the  bayo- 
nets the  amazed  Afghan  who  barred  his 
way.  It  was  Mulcahy,  keeping  to  the 
straight  line  of  the  rabid  dog,  led  a  collec- 
tion of  ardent  souls  at  a  newly  unmasked 
battery,  and  flung  himself  on  the  muzzle 
of  a  gun  as  his  companions  danced  among 
the  gunners.  It  was  Mulcahy  who  ran 
wildly  on  from  that  battery  into  the  open 
plain  where  the  enemy  were  retiring  in  sul- 
len groups.  His  hands  were  empty,  he 
had  lost  helmet  and  belt,  and  he  was  bleed- 
ing from  a  wound  in  the  neck.  Dan  and 
Horse  Egan,  panting  and  distressed,  had 
thrown  themselves  down  on  the  ground  by 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     1 1 1 

the  captured  guns,  when  they  noticed  Mul- 
cahy's  flight. 

"  Mad,"  said  Horse  Egan,  critically. 
"Mad  with  fear!  He's  going  straight  to 
his  death,  an'  shouting's  no  use." 

"  Let  him  go.  Watch  now!  If  we  fire 
we'll  hit  him  maybe." 

The  last  of  a  hurrying  crowd  of  Afghans 
turned  at  the  noise  of  shod  feet  behind  him, 
and  shifted  his  knife  ready  to  hand.  This, 
he  saw,  was  no  time  to  take  prisoners. 
Mulcahy  ran  on,  sobbing,  and  the  straight- 
held  blade  went  home  through  the  defense- 
less breast,  and  the  body  pitched  forward 
almost  before  a  shot  from  Dan's  rifle 
brought  down  the  slayer  and  still  further 
hurried  the  Afghan  retreat.  The  two 
Irishmen  went  out  to  bring  in  their  dead. 

"  He  was  given  the  point,  and  that  was 
an  easy  death,"  said  Horse  Egan,  viewing 
the  corpse.  "  But  would  you  ha'  shot  him, 
Danny,  if  he  had  lived?  " 

"  He  didn't  live,  so  there's  no  savin'. 
But  I  doubt  I  wud  have,  bekase  of  the  fun 
he  gave  us  —  let  alone  the  beer.  Hike  up 
his  legs,  Horse,  and  we'll  bring  him  in. 
Perhaps  'tis  better  this  way." 

They  bore  the  poor  limp  body  to  the 
mass  of  the  regiment,  lolling  open-mouthed 
on  their  rifles;  and  there  was  a  general 
snigger  when  one  of  the  younger  subal- 
terns said :    "  That  was  a  good  man !  " 


1 1  2         Mine  Own  People 

"  Phew!  "  said  Horse  Egan  when  a  bur- 
ial party  had  taken  over  the  burden.  "  I'm 
powerful  dhry,  and  this  reminds  me,  there'll 
be  no  more  beer  at  all." 

"  Fwhy  not?  "  said  Dan,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye  as  he  stretched  himself  for  rest. 
"  Are  we  not  conspirin'  all  we  can,  an' 
while  we  conspire  are  we  not  entitled  to 
free  dhrinks?  Sure  his  ould  mother  in 
New  York  would  not  let  her  son's  com- 
rades perish  of  drouth  —  if  she  can  be 
reached  at  the  end  of  a  letter." 

"  You're  a  janius,"  said  Horse  Egan. 
"  O'  coorse  she  will  not.  I  wish  this  crool 
war  was  over,  an'  we'd  get  back  to  can- 
teen. Faith,  the  commander-in-chief  ought 
to  be  hanged  on  his  own  little  sword-belt 
for  makin'  us  work  on  wather." 

The  Mavericks  were  generally  of  Horse 
Egan's  opinion.  So  they  made  haste  to  get 
their  work  done  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
their  industry  was  rewarded  by  unexpected 
peace.  "  We  can  fight  the  sons  of  Adam," 
said  the  tribesmen,  "  but  we  can  not 
fight  the  sons  of  Eblis,  and  this  regiment 
never  stays  still  in  one  place.  Let  us 
therefore  come  in."  They  came  in,  and 
"  this  regiment  "  withdrew  to  conspire  un- 
der the  leadership  of  Dan  Grady. 

Excellent  as  a  subordinate,  Dan  failed 
altogether  as  a  chief-in-command  —  possi- 
bly because  he  was  too  much  swayed  by  the 


Mutiny  of  the  Mavericks     1 1  3 

advice  of  the  only  man  in  the  regiment  who 
could  perpetrate  more  than  one  kind  of 
handwriting.  The  same  mail  that  bore  to 
Mulcahy's  mother  in  New  York  a  letter 
from  the  colonel,  telling  her  how  valiantly 
her  son  had  fought  for  the  queen,  and  how 
assuredly  he  would  have  been  recom- 
mended for  the  Victoria  Cross  had  he  sur- 
vived, carried  a  communication  signed,  I 
grieve  to  say,  by  that  same  colonel  and  all 
the  officers  of  the  regiment,  explaining 
their  willingness  to  do  "  anything  which 
is  contrary  to  the  regulations  and  all  kinds 
of  revolutions  "  if  only  a  little  money  could 
be  forwarded  to  cover  incidental  expenses. 
Daniel  Grady,  Esquire,  would  receive 
funds,  vice  Mulcahy,  who  "  was  unwell  at 
this  present  time  of  writing." 

Both  letters  were  forwarded  from  New 
York  to  Tehema  Street,  San  Francisco, 
with  marginal  comments  as  brief  as  they 
were  bitter.  The  Third  Three  read  and 
looked  at  each  other.  Then  the  Second 
Conspirator  —  he  who  believed  in  "  joining 
hands  with  the  practical  branches  " — began 
to  laugh,  and  on  recovering  his  gravity, 
said:  "  Gentlemen,  I  consider  this  will  be 
a  lesson  to  us.  "  We're  left  again.  Those 
cursed  Irish  have  let  us  down.  I  knew 
they  would,  but  " —  here  he  laughed  afresh 
— "  I'd  give  considerable  to  know  what  was 
at  the  back  of  it  all." 


H4         Mine  Own  People 

His  curiosity  would  have  been  satisfied 
had  he  seen  Dan  Grady,  discredited  regi- 
mental conspirator,  trying  to  explain  to  his 
thirsty  comrades  in  India  the  non-arrival 
of  funds  from  New  York. 


AT  THE  END  OF  THE 
PASSAGE 


Four  men,  theoretically  entitled  to  "  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,"  -sat 
at  a  table  playing  whist.  The  thermome- 
ter marked  —  for  them  —  one  hundred  and 
one  degrees  of  heat.  The  room  was  dark- 
ened till  it  was  only  just  possible  to  distin- 
guish the  pips  of  the  cards  and  the  very 
white  faces  of  the  players.  A  tattered,  rot- 
ten punkah  of  whitewashed  calico  was  pud- 
dling the  hot  air  and  whining  dolefully  at 
each  stroke.  Outside  lay  gloom  of  a  No- 
vember day  in  London.  There  was  nei- 
ther sky,  sun,  nor  horizon  —  nothing  but 
a  brown-purple  haze  of  heat.  It  was  as 
though  the  earth  were  dying  of  apoplexy. 

From  time  to  time  clouds  of  tawny  dust 
rose  from  the  ground  without  wind  or 
warning,  flung  themselves  table-clothwise 
among  the  tops  of  the  parched  trees,  and 
came  down  again.  Then  a  whirling  dust- 
devil  would  scutter  across  the  plain  for  a 
couple  of  miles,   break  and  fall   outward, 

115 


i  1 6         Mine  Own  People 

though  there  was  nothing  to  check  its 
flight  save.a  long  low  line  of  piled  railway- 
sleepers  white  with  the  dust,  a  cluster  of 
huts  made  of  mud,  condemned  rails  and 
canvas,  and  the  one  squat  four-roomed  bun- 
galow that  belonged  to  the  assistant  engin- 
eer in  charge  of  a  section  of  the  Gandhari 
State  line  then  under  construction. 

The  four  men,  stripped  to  the  thinnest 
of  sleeping-suits,  played  whist  crossly,  with 
wranglings  as  to  leads  and  returns.  It  was 
not  the  best  kind  of  whist,  but  they  had 
taken  some  trouble  to  arrive  at  it.  Mot- 
tram,  of  the  India  Survey,  had  ridden  thirty 
and  railed  one  hundred  miles  from  his 
lonely  post  in  the  desert  since  the  previous 
night;  Lowndes,  of  the  Civil  Service,  on 
special  duty  in  the  political  department,  had 
come  as  far  to  escape  for  an  instant  the 
miserable  intrigues  of  an  impoverished  na- 
tive state  whose  king  alternately  fawned 
and  blustered  for  more  money  from  the 
pitiful  revenues  contributed  by  hard-wrung 
peasants  and  despairing  camel-breeders; 
Spurstow,  the  doctor  of  the  line,  had  left  a 
cholera-stricken  camp  of  coolies  to  look 
after  itself  for  forty-eight  hours  while  he 
associated  with  white  men  once  more. 
Hummil,  the  assistant  engineer,  was  the 
host.  He  stood  fast,  and  received  his 
friends  thus  every  Sunday  if  they  could 
come  in.     When  one  of  them  failed  to  ap- 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     117 

pear,  he  would  send  a  telegram  to  his  last 
address,  in  order  that  he  might  know 
whether  the  defaulter  was  dead  or  alive. 
There  be  very  many  places  in  the  East 
where  it  is  not  good  or  kind  to  let  your 
acquaintances  drop  out  of  sight  even  for 
one  short  week. 

The  players  were  not  conscious  of  any 
special  regard  for  each  other.  They  squab- 
bled whenever  they  met;  but  they  ardently 
desired  to  meet,  as  men  without  water  de- 
sire to  drink.  They  were  lonely  folk  who 
understood  the  dread  meaning  of  loneli- 
ness. They  were  all  under  thirty  years  of 
age  —  which  is  too  soon  for  any  man  to 
possess  that  knowledge. 

"  Pilsener,"  said  Spurstow,  after  the  sec- 
ond rubber,  mopping  his  forehead. 

"  Beer's  out,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  and  there's 
hardly  enough  soda-water  for  to-night," 
said  Hummil. 

"  What  filthy  bad  management!  "  snarled 
Spurstow. 

"  Can't  help  it.  I've  written  and  wired; 
but  the  trains  don't  come  through  regu- 
larly yet.  Last  week  the  ice  ran  out  —  as 
Lowndes  knows." 

"  Glad  I  didn't  come.  I  could  ha'  sent 
you  some  if  I  had  known,  though.  Phew! 
it's  too  hot  to  go  on  playing  bumblepuppy." 

This  was  a  savage  growl  at   Lowndes, 


1 1 8         Mine  Own  People 

who  only  laughed.  He  was  a  hardened 
offender. 

Mottram  rose  from  the  table  and  looked 
out  of  a  chink  in  the  shutters. 

"  What  a  sweet  day!  "  said  he. 

The  company  yawned  unanimously  and 
betook  themselves  to  an  aimless  investiga- 
tion of  all  Hummil's  possessions  —  guns, 
tattered  novels,  saddlery,  spurs,  and  the 
like.  They  had  fingered  them  a  score  of 
times  before,  but  there  was  really  nothing 
else  to  do. 

"  Got  anything  fresh?  "  said  Lowndes. 

"  Last  week's  '  Gazette  of  India,'  and  a 
cutting  from  a  home  paper.  My  father 
sent  it  out.     It's  rather  amusing." 

"  One  of  those  vestrymen  that  call  'em- 
selves  M.  P.'s  again,  is  it?"  said  Spurstow, 
wrho  read  his  newspapers  when  he  could 
get  them. 

"  Yes.  Listen  to  this.  It's  to  your  ad- 
dress, Lowndes.  The  man  was  making  a 
speech  to  his  constituents,  and  he  piled  it 
on.  Here's  a  sample:  'And  I  assert  un- 
hesitatingly that  the  Civil  Service  in  India 
is  the  preserve  —  the  pet  preserve  —  of  the 
aristocracy  of  England.  What  does  the 
democracy  —  what  do  the  masses  —  get 
from  that  country,  which  we  have  step  by 
step  fraudulently  annexed?  I  answer,  noth- 
ing whatever.  It  is  farmed,  with  a  single 
eye  to  their  own  interests,  by  the  scions  of 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     119 

the  aristocracy.  They  take  good  care  to 
maintain  their  lavish  scale  of  incomes,  to 
avoid  or  stifle  any  inquiries  into  the  nature 
and  conduct  of  their  administration,  while 
they  themselves  force  the  unhappy  peasant 
to  pay  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow  for  all 
the  luxuries  in  which  they  are  lapped.' ' 
Hummil  waved  the  cutting  above  his  head. 
1  'Ear!  'ear!  "  said  his  audience. 
Then  Lowndes,  meditatively:     "  I'd  give 

—  I'd  give  three  months'  pay  to  have  that 
gentleman  spend  one  month  with  me  and 
see  how  the  free  and  independent  native 
prince   works   things.     Old   Timbersides " 

—  this  was  his  flippant  title  for  an  honored 
and  decorated  prince  — "  has  been  wearing 
my  life  out  this  week  past  for  money.  By 
Jove!  his  latest  performance  was  to  send 
me  one  of  his  women  as  a  bribe!  " 

"  Good  for  you.  Did  you  accept  it?  " 
said  Mottram. 

"  No.  I  rather  wish  I  had,  now.  She 
was  a  pretty  little  person,  and  she  yarned 
away  to  me  about  the  horrible  destitution 
among  the  king's  women-folk.  The  dar- 
lings haven't  had  any  new  clothes  for  nearly 
a  month,  and  the  old  man  wants  to  buy  a 
new  drag  from  Calcutta  —  solid  silver  rail- 
ings and  silver  lamps,  and  trifles  of  that 
kind.  I've  tried  to  make  him  understand 
that  he  has  played  the  deuce  with  the  reve- 


120         Mine  Own  People 

nues  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  must  go 
slow.     He  can't  see  it." 

"  But  he  has  the  ancestral  treasure-vault 
to  draw  on.  There  must  be  three  millions 
at  least  in  jewels  and  coin  under  his  pal- 
ace," said  Hummil. 

"  Catch  a  native  king  disturbing  the  fam- 
ily treasure!  The  priests  forbid  it,  except 
as  the  last  resort.  Old  Timbersides  has 
added  something  like  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion to  the  deposit  in  his  reign." 

"  Where  the  mischief  does  it  all  come 
from?"  said  Mottram. 

"  The  country.  The  state  of  the  people 
is  enough  to  make  you  sick.  I've  known 
the  tax-men  wait  by  a  milch-camel  till  the 
foal  was  born,  and  then  hurry  off  the 
mother  for  arrears.  And  what  can  I  do? 
I  can't  get  the  court  clerks  to  give  me  any 
accounts;  I  can't  raise  anything  more  than 
a  fat  smile  from  the  commander-in-chief 
when  I  find  out  the  troops  are  three  months 
in  arrears;  and  old  Timbersides  begins  to 
weep  when  I  speak  to  him.  He  has  taken 
to  the  king's  peg  heavily  —  liqueur  brandy 
for  whiskey  and  Heidsieck  for  soda-water." 

"  That's  what  the  Rao  of  Jubela  took  to. 
Even  a  native  can't  last  long  at  that,"  said 
Spurstow.     "  He'll  go  out." 

"  And  a  good  thing,  too.  Then  I  sup- 
pose we'll  have  a  council  of  regency,  and  a 
tutor  for  the  young  prince,  and  hand  him 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    121 

back  his  kingdom  with  ten  years'  accumu- 
lations." 

"  Whereupon  that  young  prince,  having 
been  taught  all  the  vices  of  the  English, 
will  play  ducks  and  drakes  with  the  money, 
and  undo  ten  years'  work  in  eighteen 
months.  I've  seen  that  business  before," 
said  Spurstow.  "  I  should  tackle  the  king 
with  a  light  hand,  if  I  were  you,  Lowndes. 
They'll  hate  you  quite  enough  under  any 
circumstances." 

"  That's  all  very  well.  The  man  who 
looks  on  can  talk  about  the  light  hand;  but 
you  can't  clean  a  pig-sty  with  a  pen  dipped 
in  rosewater.  I  know  my  risks;  but  noth- 
ing has  happened  yet.  My  servant's  an  old 
Pathan,  and  he  cooks  for  me.  They  are 
hardly  likely  to  bribe  him,  and  I  don't  ac- 
cept food  from  my  true  friends,  as  they 
call  themselves.  Oh,  but  it's  weary  work! 
I'd  sooner  be  with  you,  Spurstow.  There's 
shooting  near  your  camp." 

"Would  you?  I  don't  think  it.  About 
fifteen  deaths  a  day  don't  incite  a  man  to 
shoot  anything  but  himself.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is  that  the  poor  devils  look  at 
you  as  though  you  ought  to  save  them. 
Lord  knows,  I've  tried  everything.  My 
last  attempt  was  empirical,  but  it  pulled 
an  old  man  through.  He  was  brought  to 
me  apparently  past  hope,  and  I  gave  him 


122         Mine  Own  People 

gin  and  Worcester  sauce  with  cayenne.  It 
cured  him;  but  I  don't  recommend  it." 

"  How  do  the  cases  run  generally?  "  said 
Hummil. 

"  Very  simply  indeed.  Chlorodyne, 
opium  pill,  chlorodyne,  collapse,  nitre, 
bricks  to  the  feet,  and  then  —  the  burning- 
ghat.  The  last  seems  to  be  the  only  thing 
that  stops  the  trouble.  It's  black  cholera, 
you  know.  Poor  devils!  But,  I  will  say, 
little  Bunsee  Lai,  my  apothecary,  works 
like  a  demon.  I've  recommended  him  for 
promotion  if  he  comes  through  it  all  alive." 

"  And  what  are  your  chances,  old  man?  " 
said  Mottram. 

"  Don't  know;  don't  care  much;  but  I've 
sent  the  letter  in.  What  are  you  doing 
with  yourself  generally?  " 

"  Sitting  under  a  table  in  the  tent  and 
spitting  on  the  sextant  to  keep  it  cool,"  said 
the  man  of  the  survey.  "  Washing  my  eyes 
to  avoid  ophthalmia,  which  I  shall  cer- 
tainly get,  and  trying  to  make  a  sub-sur- 
veyor understand  that  an  error  of  five 
degrees  in  an  angle  isn't  quite  so  small  as  it 
looks.  I'm  altogether  alone,  y'  know,  and 
shall  be  till  the  end  of  the  hot  weather." 

"  Hummil's  the  lucky  man,"  said 
Lowndes,  flinging  himself  into  a  long  chair. 
"  He  has  an  actual  roof  —  torn  as  to  the 
ceiling-cloth,  but  still  a  roof  —  over  his 
head.     He  sees  one  train  daily.     He  can 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    123 

get  beer  and  soda-water,  and  ice  it  when 
God  is  good.  He  has  books,  pictures  "— 7- 
they  were  torn  from  the  "  Graphic  " — "  and 
the  society  of  the  excellent  sub-contractor 
Jevins,  besides  the  pleasure  of  receiving  us 
weekly." 

Hummil  smiled  grimly.  "  Yes,  I'm  the 
lucky  man,  I  suppose.     Jevins  is  luckier." 

"How?     Not—" 

"  Yes.     Went  out.     Last  Monday." 

"  Ap  scf  "  said  Spurstow,  quickly,  hint- 
ing the  suspicion  that  was  in  everybody's 
mind.  There  was  no  cholera  near  Hum- 
mil's  section.  Even  fever  gives  a  man  at 
least  a  week's  grace,  and  sudden  death  gen- 
erally implied  self-slaughter. 

"  I  judge  no  man  this  weather,"  said 
Hummil.  "  He  had  a  touch  of  the  sun, 
I  fancy;  for  last  week,  after  you  fellows 
had  left,  he  came  into  the  veranda,  and  told 
me  that  he  was  going  home  to  see  his  wife, 
in  Market  Street,  Liverpool,  that  evening. 
I  got  the  apothecary  in  to  look  at  him,  and 
we  tried  to  make  him  lie  down.  After  an 
hour  or  two  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  sajd 
he  believed  he  had  had  a  fit  —  hoped  he 
hadn't  said  anything  rude.  Jevins  had  a 
great  idea  of  bettering  himself  socially. 
He  was  very  like  Chucks  in  his  language;" 

"Well?" 

"  Then  he  went  to  his  own  bungalow  and 
began  cleaning  a  rifle.     He  told  the  ser- 


124         Mine  Own  People 

vant  that  he  was  going  after  buck  in  the 
morning.  Naturally  he  fumbled  with  the 
trigger,  and  shot  himself  through  the  head 
accidentally.  The  apothecary  sent  in  a  re- 
port to  my  chief,  and  Jevins  is  buried  some- 
where out  there.  I'd  have  wired  to  you, 
Spurstow,  if  you  could  have  done 
anything." 

"  You're  a  queer  chap,"  said  Mottram. 
"  If  you  killed  the  man  yourself  you 
couldn't  have  been  more  quiet  about  the 
business." 

"  Good  Lord!  what  does  it  matter?  "  said 
Hummil,  calmly.  "  I've  got  to  do  a  lot  of 
his  overseeing  work  in  addition  to  my  own. 
I'm  the  only  person  that  suffers.  Jevins 
is  out  of  it  —  by  pure  accident,  of  course, 
but  out  of  it.  The  apothecary  was  going 
to  write  a  long  screed  on  suicide.  Trust 
a  babu  to  drivel  when  he  gets  the  chance." 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  it  go  in  as  sui- 
cide?" said  Lowndes. 

"  No  direct  proof.  A  man  hasn't  many 
privileges  in  this  country,  but  he  might  at 
least  be  allowed  to  mishandle  his  own  rifle. 
Besides,  some  day  I  may  need  a  man  to 
smother  up  an  accident  to  myself.  Live 
and  let  live.     Die  and  let  die." 

"  You  take  a  pill,"  said  Spurstow,  who 
had  been  watching  Hummil's  white  face 
narrowly.  "  Take  a  pill,  and  don't  be  an 
ass.    That  sort  of  talk  is  skittles.    Anyhow, 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     125 

suicide  is  shirking  your  work.  If  I  was  a 
Job  ten  times  over,  I  should  be  so  inter- 
ested in  what  was  going  to  happen  next 
that  I'd  stay  on  and  watch." 

"Ah!  I've  lost  that  curiosity,"  said 
Hummil. 

"  Liver  out  of  order? "  said  Lowndes, 
feelingly. 

"  No.     Can't  sleep.     That's  worse." 

"  By  Jove,  it  is!  "  said  Mottram.  "  I'm 
that  way  every  now  and  then,  and  the  fit 
has  to  wear  itself  out.  What  do  you  take 
for  it?" 

"  Nothing.  What's  the  use?  I  haven't 
had  ten  minutes'  sleep  since  Friday 
morning." 

"Poor  chap!  Spurstow,  you  ought  to 
attend  to  this,"  said  Mottram.  "  Now  you 
mention  it,  your  eyes  are  rather  gummy 
and  swollen." 

Spurstow,  still  watching  Hummil, 
laughed  lightly.  "  I'll  patch  him  up  later 
on.  Is  it  too  hot,  do  you  think,  to  go  for 
a  ride?  "  • 

"Where  to?"  said  Lowndes,  wearily. 
"  We  shall  have  to  go  away  at  eight,  and 
there'll  be  riding  enough  for  us  then.  I 
hate  a  horse,  when  I  have  to  use  him  as  a 
necessity.  Oh,  heavens!  what  is  there  to 
do?" 

"  Begin  whist  again,  at  chick  points  "  (a 
"  chick  "  is  supposed  to  be  eight  shillings), 


I  26         Mine  Own  People 

"  and  a  gold  mohur  on  the  rub,"  said  Spur- 
stow,  promptly. 

"  Poker.  A  month's  pay  all  round  for 
the  pool  —  no  limit  —  and  fifty-rupee 
raises.  Somebody  would  be  broken  before 
we  got  up,"  said  Lowndes. 

"  Can't  say  that  it  would  give  me  any 
pleasure  to  break  any  man  in  this  com- 
pany," said  Mottram.  "  There  isn't  enough 
excitement  in  it,  and  it's  foolish."  He 
crossed  over  to  the  worn  and  battered  little 
camp-piano — wreckage  of  a  married  house- 
hold that  had  once  held  the  bungalow  — 
and  opened  the  case. 

"  It's  used  up  long  ago,"  said  Hummil. 
'  The  servants  have  picked  it  to  pieces." 

The  piano  was  indeed  hopelessly  out  of 
order,  but  Mottram  managed  to  bring  the 
rebellious  notes  into  a  sort  of  agreement, 
and  there  rose  from  the  ragged  key-board 
something  that  might  once  have  been  the 
ghost  of  a  popular  music-hall  song.  The 
men  in  the  long  chairs  turned  with  evident 
interest  as  Mottram  banged  the  more 
lustily. 

"That's  good!"  said  Lowndes.  "By 
Jove!  the  last  time  I  heard  that  song  was 
in  '79,  or  thereabouts,  just  before  I  came 
out." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Spurstow,  with  pride,  "  I  was 
home  in  '80."  And  he  mentioned  a  song 
of  the  streets  popular  at  that  date. 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    127 

Mottram  executed  it  indifferently  well. 
Lowndes  criticised,  and  volunteered  emen- 
dations. Mottram  dashed  into  another 
ditty,  not  of  the  music-hall  character,  and 
made  as  if  to  rise. 

"  Sit  down/'  said  Hummil.  "  I  didn't 
know  that  you  had  any  music  in  your  com- 
position. Go  on  playing  until  you  can't 
think  of  anything  more.  I'll  have  that 
piano  tuned  up  before  you  come  again. 
Play  something  festive." 

Very  simple  indeed  were  the  tunes  to 
which  Mottram's  art  and  the  limitations 
of  the  piano  could  give  effect,  but  the  men 
listened  with  pleasure,  and  in  the  pauses 
talked  all  together  of  what  they  had  seen 
or  heard  when  they  were  last  at  home.  A 
dense  dust-storm  sprung  up  outside  and 
swept  roaring  over  the  house,  enveloping 
it  in  the  choking  darkness  of  midnight,  but 
Mottram  continued  unheeding,  and  the 
crazy  tinkle  reached  the  ears  of  the  listen- 
ers above  the  flapping  of  the  tattered  ceil- 
ing-cloth. 

In  the  silence  after  the  storm  he  glided 
from  the  more  directly  personal  songs  of 
Scotland,  half  humming  them  as  he  played, 
into  the  "  Evening  Hymn." 

"  Sunday,"  said  he  nodding  his  head. 

"  Go  on.  Don't  apologize  for  it,"  said 
Spurstow. 

Hummil    laughed    long    and    riotously. 


128         Mine  Own  People 

"  Play  it,  by  all  means.  You're  full  of  sur- 
prises to-day.  I  didn't  know  you  had  such 
a  gift  of  finished  sarcasm.  How  does  that 
thing  go?" 

Mottram  took  up  the  tune. 

"  Too  slow  by  half.  You  miss  the  note 
of  gratitude,"  said  Hummil.  "  It  ought  to 
go  to  the  '  Grasshopper  Polka  ' —  this  way." 
And  he  chanted,  prestissimo: 

"  Glory  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light.' 

That  shows  we  really  feel  our  blessings. 
How  does  it  go  on?  — 

"  '  If  in  the  night  I  sleepless  lie, 

My  soul  with  sacred  thoughts  supply; 

May  no  ill  dreams  disturb  my  rest,' — 

Quicker,  Mottram!  — 

'  Or  powers  of  darkness  me  molest ! ' " 

"  Bah!  what  an  old  hypocrite  you  are." 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Lowndes.  "  You 
are  at  full  liberty  to  make  fun  of  anything 
else  you  like,  but  leave  that  hymn  alone. 
It's  associated  in  my  mind  with  the  most 
sacred  recollections " 

"  Summer  evenings  in  the  country  — 
stained-glass  window  —  light  going  out, 
and  you  and  she  jamming  your  heads  to- 
gether over  one  hymn-book,"  said  Mot- 
tram. 

"  Yes,  and  a  fat  old  cockchafer  hitting 
you  in  the  eye  when  you  walked  home. 
Smell  of  hay,  and  a  moon  as  big  as  a  band- 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    1 29 

box  sitting  on  the  top  of  a  haycock ;  bats  — 
roses  —  milk  and  midges,"  said  Lowndes. 

"  Also  mothers.  I  can  just  recollect  my 
mother  singing  me  to  sleep  with  that  when 
I  was  a  little  chap,"  said  Spurstow. 

The  darkness  had  fallen  on  the  room. 
They  could  hear  Hummil  squirming  in  his 
chair. 

"  Consequently,"  said  he,  testily,  "  you 
sing  it  when  you  are  seven  fathoms  deep 
in  hell!  It's  an  insult  to  the  intelligence  of 
the  Deity  to  pretend  we're  anything  but 
tortured  rebels." 

"Take  two  pills,"  said  Spurstow:  "that's 
tortured  liver." 

"The  usually  placid  Hummil  is  in  a  vile 
bad  temper.  I'm  sorry  for  the  coolies  to- 
morrow," said  Lowndes,  as  the  servants 
brought  in  the  lights  and  prepared  the  table 
for  dinner. 

As  they  were  settling  into  their  places 
about  the  miserable  goat-chops,  the  curried 
eggs,  and  the  smoked  tapioca  pudding, 
Spurstow  took  occasion  to  whisper  to  Mot- 
tram:    "  Well  done,  David!  " 

"  Look  after  Saul,  then,"  was  the  reply. 

"  What  are  you  two  whispering  about?" 
said  Hummil,  suspiciously. 

"  Only  saying  that  you  are  a  d d  poor 

host.  This  fowl  can't  be  cut,"  returned 
Spurstow,  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  Call  this 
a  dinner?  " 


130         Mine  Own  People 

"  I  can't  help  it.  You  don't  expect  a  ban- 
quet, do  you? " 

Throughout  that  meal  Jlummil  con- 
trived laboriously  to  insult  directly  and 
pointedly  all  his  guests  in  succession,  and 
at  each  insult  Spurstow  kicked  the  ag- 
grieved person  under  the  table,  but  he 
dared  not  exchange  a  glance  of  intelligence 
with  either  of  them.  Hummil's  face  was 
white  and  pinched,  while  his  eyes  were  un- 
naturally large.  No  man  dreamed  for  a 
moment  of  resenting  his  savage  personali- 
ties, but  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  over  they 
made  haste  to  get  away. 

"  Don't  go.  You're  just  getting  amus- 
ing, you  fellows.  I  hope  I  haven't  said 
anything  that  annoyed  you.  You're  such 
touchy  devils."  Then,  changing  the  note 
into  one  of  almost  abject  entreaty:  "  I  say, 
you  surely  aren't  going?" 

"  Where  I  dines,  I  sleeps,  in  the  language 
of  the  blessed  Jorrocks,"  said  Spurstow. 
"  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  your  coolies  to- 
morrow, if  you  don't  mind.  You  can  give 
me  a  place  to  lie  down  in,  I  suppose?" 

The  others  pleaded  the  urgency  of  their 
several  employs  next  day,  and,  saddling  up, 
departed  together,  Hummil  begging  them 
to  come  next  Sunday.  As  they  jogged  off 
together,  Lowndes  unbosomed  himself  to 
Mottram:  ".  .  .  And  I  never  felt  so 
like  kicking  a  man  at  his  own  table  in  my 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    i  3 1 

life.  Said  I  cheated  at  whist,  and  reminded 
me  I  was  in  debt!  Told  you  you  were  as 
good  as  a  liar  to  your  face!  You  aren't 
half  indignant  enough  over  it." 

"Not  I"  said  Mottram.  "  Poor  devil! 
Did  you  ever  know  old  Hummy  behave 
like  that  before?  Did  you  ever  know  him 
go  within  a  hundred  miles  of  it?  " 

"  That's  no  excuse.  Spurstow  was  hack- 
ing my  shin  all  the  time,  so  I  kept  a  hand 
on  myself.     Else  I  should  have " 

"  No,  you  wouldn't.  You'd  have  done 
as  Hummy  did  about  Jevins:  judge  no  man 
this  weather.  By  Jove!  the  buckle  of  my 
bridle  is  hot  in  my  hand!  Trot  out  a  bit, 
and  mind  the  rat-holes." 

Ten  minutes'  trotting  jerked  out  of 
Lowndes  one  very  sage  remark  when  he 
pulled  up,  sweating  from  every  pore: 

"  Good  thing  Spurstow's  with  him  to- 
night." 

"  Ye-es.  Good  man,  Spurstow.  Our 
roads  turn  here.  See  you  again  next  Sun- 
day, if  the  sun  doesn't  bowl  me  over." 

"  S'pose  so,  unless  old  Timbersides' 
finance  minister  manages  to  dress  some  of 
my  food.  Good-night,  and  —  God  bless 
you !  " 

"What's  wrong  now?" 

"  Oh,  nothing."  Lowndes  gathered  up 
his  whip,  and,  as  he  flicked  Mottram's  mare 
on  the  flank,  added:    "  You're  a  good  little 


132         Mine  Own  People 

chap  —  that's  all."  And  the  mare  bolted 
half  a  mile  across  the  sand  on  the  word. 

In  the  assistant  engineer's  bungalow 
Spurstow  and  Hummil  smoked  the  pipe  of 
silence  together,  each  narrowly  watching 
the  other.  The  capacity  of  a  bachelor's  es- 
tablishment is  as  elastic  as  its  arrangements 
are  simple.  A  servant  cleared  away  the 
dining-room  table,  brought  in  a  couple  of 
rude  native  bedsteads  made  of  tape  strung 
on  a  light  wood  frame,  flung  a  square  of 
cool  Calcutta  matting  over  each,  set  them 
side  by  side,  pinned  two  towels  to  the  pun- 
kah so  that  their  fringes  should  just  sweep 
clear  of  each  sleeper's  nose  and  mouth,  and 
announced  that  the  couches  were  ready. 

The  men  flung  themselves  down,  adjur- 
ing the  punkah-coolies  by  all  the  powers 
of  Eblis  to  pull.  Every  door  and  window 
was  shut,  for  the  outside  air  was  that  of  an 
oven.  The  atmosphere  within  was  only 
1040,  as  the  thermometer  attested,  and 
heavy  with  the  foul  smell  of  badly  trimmed 
kerosene  lamps;  and  this  stench,  combined 
with  that  of  native  tobacco,  baked  brick, 
and  dried  earth,  sends  the  heart  of  many 
a  strong  man  down  to  his  boots,  for  it  is 
the  smell  of  the  great  Indian  Empire  when 
she  turns  herself  for  six  months  into  a 
house  of  torment.  Spurstow  packed  his 
pillows  craftily,  so  that  he  reclined  rather 
than  lay,  his  head  at  a  safe  elevation  above 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    i  3  3 

his  feet.  It  is  not  good  to  sleep  on  a  low- 
pillow  in  the  hot  weather  if  you  happen  to 
be  of  thick-necked  build,  for  you  may  pass 
with  lively  snores  and  gurglings  from  nat- 
ural sleep  into  the  deep  slumber  of  heat- 
apoplexy. 

"  Pack  your  pillows,"  said  the  doctor, 
sharply,  as  he  saw  Hummil  preparing  to 
lie  down  at  full  length. 

The  night-light  was  trimmed;  the 
shadow  of  the  punkah  wavered  across  the 
room,  and  the  Hick  of  the  punkah-towel  and 
the  soft  whine  of  the  rope  through  the 
wall-hole  followed  it.  Then  the  punkah 
flagged,  almost  ceased.  The  sweat  poured 
from  Spurstow's  brow.  Should  he  go  out 
and  harangue  the  coolie?  It  started  for- 
ward again  with  a  savage  jerk,  and  a  pin 
came  out  of  the  towels.  When  this  was 
replaced,  a  tom-tom  in  the  coolie  lines  be- 
gan to  beat  with  the  steady  throb  of  a 
swollen  artery  inside  some  brain-fevered 
skull.  Spurstow  turned  on  his  side  and 
swore  gently.  There  was  no  movement  on 
Hummil's  part.  The  man  had  composed 
himself  as  rigidly  as  a  corpse,  his  hands 
clinched  at  his  sides.  The  respiration  was 
too  hurried  for  any  suspicion  of  sleep. 
Spurstow  looked  at  the  set  face.  The  jaws 
were  clinched,  and  there  was  a  pucker 
round  the  quivering  eyelids. 

"  He's  holding  himself  as  tightly  as  ever 


I  34         Mine  Own  People 

he  can,"  thought  Spurstow.  "  What  a 
sham  it  is!  and  what  in  the  world  is  the 
matter   with   him?  —  Hummil!  " 

"  Yes." 

"Can't  you  get  to  sleep?" 

"  No." 

"Head  hot?  Throat  feeling  bulgy?  or 
how?  " 

"  Neither,  thanks.  I  don't  sleep  much, 
you  know." 

"Feel  pretty  bad?" 

"  Pretty  bad,  thanks.  There  is  a  tom- 
tom outside,  isn't  there?  I  thought  it  was 
my  head  at  first.  Oh,  Spurstow,  for  pity's 
sake,  give  me  something  that  will  put  me 
asleep  —  sound  sleep  —  if  it's  only  for  six 
hours!  "  He  sprung  up.  "  I  haven't  been 
able  to  sleep  naturally  for  days,  and  I  can't 
stand  it!  —  I  can't  stand  it!" 

"  Poor  old  chap!  " 

"  That's  no  use.  Give  me  something  to 
make  me  sleep.  I  tell  you  I'm  nearly  mad. 
I  don't  know  what  I  say  half  my  time.  For 
three  weeks  I've  had  to  think  and  spell  out 
every  word  that  has  come  through  my  lips 
before  I  dared  say  it.  I  had  to  get  my 
sentences  out  down  to  the  last  word,  for 
fear  of  talking  drivel  if  I  didn't.  Isn't  that 
enough  to  drive  a  man  mad?  I  can't  see 
things  correctly  now,  and  I've  lost  my 
sense  of  touch.  Make  me  sleep.  Oh, 
Spurstow,  for  the  love  of  God,  make  me 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     135 

sleep  sound.     It  isn't  enough  merely  to  let 
me  dream.     Let  me  sleep!  " 

"  All  right,  old  man,  all  right.  Go  slow. 
You  aren't  half  as  bad  as  you  think."  The 
flood-gates  of  reserve  once  broken,  Hum- 
mil  was  clinging  to  him  like  a  frightened 
child. 

"  You're  pinching  my  arm  to  pieces." 
"  I'll  break  your  neck  if  you  don't  do 
something  for  me.  No,  I  didn't  mean  that. 
Don't  be  angry,  old  fellow."  He  wiped 
the  sweat  off  himself  as  he  fought  to  regain 
composure.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I'm  a 
bit  restless  and  off  my  oats,  and  perhaps 
you  could  recommend  some  sort  of  sleep- 
ing-mixture —  bromide   of  potassium." 

"Bromide  of  skittles!  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  this  before?  Let  go  of  my  arm,  and 
I'll  see  if  there's  anything  in  my  cigarette- 
case  to  suit  your  complaint."  He  hunted 
among  his  day-clothes,  turned  up  the 
lamp,  opened  a  little  silver  cigarette-case, 
and  advanced  on  the  expectant  Hummil 
with  the  daintiest  of  fairy  squirts. 

"  The  last  appeal  of  civilization,"  said  he, 
"  and  a  thing  I  hate  to  use.  Hold  out  your 
arm.  Well,  your  sleeplessness  hasn't 
ruined  your  muscle;  and  what  a  thick  hide 
it  is!  Might  as  well  inject  a  buffalo  sub- 
cutaneously.  Now  in  a  few  minutes  the 
morphia  will  begin  working.  Lie  down 
and  wait." 


136         Mine  Own  People 

A  smile  of  unalloyed  and  idiotic  delight 
began  to  creep  over  Hummil's  face.  "  I 
think,"  he  whispered  — "  I  think  I'm  going 
off  now.  Gad!  it's  positively  heavenly! 
Spurstow,  you  must  give  me  that  case  to 
keep;  you — "  The  voice  ceased  as  the 
head  fell  back. 

"Not  for  a  good  deal,"  said  Spurstow  to 
the  unconscious  form.  "  And  now,  my 
friend,  sleeplessness  of  your  kind  being 
very  apt  to  relax  the  moral  fiber  in  little 
matters  of  life  and  death,  I'll  just  take  the 
liberty  of  spiking  your  guns." 

He  paddled  into  Hummil's  saddle-room 
in  his  bare  feet,  and  uncased  a  twelve-bore, 
an  express,  and  a  revolver.  Of  the  first  he 
unscrewed  the  nipples  and  hid  them  in  the 
bottom  of  a  saddlery-case ;  of  the  second  he 
abstracted  the  lever,  placing  it  behind  a  big 
wardrobe.  The  third  he  merely  opened, 
and  knocked  the  doll-head  bolt  of  the  grip 
up  with  the  heel  of  a  riding-boot. 

"That's  settled,"  he  said,  as  he  shook 
the  sweat  off  his  hands.  "  These  little  pre- 
cautions will  at  least  give  you  time  to  turn. 
You  have  too  much  sympathy  with  gun- 
room accidents." 

And  as  he  rose  from  his  knees,  the  thick 
muffled  voice  of  Hummil  cried  in  the  door- 
way:    "  You  fool!  " 

Such  tones  they  use  who  speak  in  the 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    i  37 

lucid  intervals  of  delirium  to  their  friends 
a  little  before  they  die. 

Spurstow  jumped  with  sheer  fright. 
Hummil  stood  in  the  doorway,  rocking 
with  helpless  laughter. 

"  That  was  awfly  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,'' 
he  said,  very  slowly,  feeling  for  his  words. 
"  I  don't  intend  to  go  out  by  my  own  hand 
at  present.  I  say,  Spurstow,  that  stuff 
won't  work.  What  shall  I  do?  What 
shall  I  do?  "  And  panic  terror  stood  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Lie  down  and  give  it  a  chance.  Lie 
down  at  once." 

"  I  daren't.  It  will  only  take  me  half- 
way again,  and  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  get  away 
this  time.  Do  you  know  it  was  all  I  could 
do  to  come  out  just  now?  Generally  I  am 
as  quick  as  lightning;  but  you  have  clogged 
my  feet.     I  was  nearly  caught." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  understand.  Go  and  lie 
down." 

"  No,  it  isn't  delirium ;  but  it  was  an 
awfully  mean  trick  to  play  on  me.  Do  you 
know  I  might  have  died?  " 

As  a  sponge  rubs  a  slate  clean,  so  some 
power  unknown  to  Spurstow  had  wiped  out 
of  Hummil's  face  all  that  stamped  it  for  the 
face  of  a  man,  and  he  stood  at  the  door- 
way in  the  expression  of  his  lost  innocence. 
He  had  slept  back  into  terrified  childhood. 

"Is    he    going    to    die    on    the    spot?" 


138         Mine  Own  People 

thought  Spurstow.  Then,  aloud:  "All 
right,  my  son.  Come  back  to  bed,  and  tell 
me  all  about  it.  You  couldn't  sleep;  but 
what  was  all  the  rest  of  the  nonsense?  " 

"  A  place  —  a  place  down  there,"  said 
Hummil,  with  simple  sincerity.  The  drug 
was  acting  on  him  by  waves,  and  he  was 
flung  from  the  fear  of  a  strong  man  to  the 
fright  of  a  child  as  his  nerves  gathered 
sense  or  were  dulled. 

"  Good  God!  I've  been  afraid  of  it  for 
months  past,  Spurstow.  It  has  made  every 
night  hell  to  me;  and  yet  I'm  not  conscious 
of  having  done  anything  wrong." 

"  Be  still,  and  I'll  give  you  another  dose. 
We'll  stop  your  nightmares,  you  unutter- 
able idiot !  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  give  me  so  much 
that  I  can't  get  away.  You  must  make 
me  quite  sleepy  —  not  just  a  little  sleepy. 
It's  so  hard  to  run  then." 

"  I  know  it;  I  know  it.  I've  felt  it  my- 
self. The  symptoms  are  exactly  as  you 
describe." 

"Oh  don't  laugh  at  me,  confound  you! 
Before  this  awful  sleeplessness  came  to  me, 
I've  tried  to  rest  on  my  elbow  and  put  a 
spur  in  the  bed  to  sting  me  when  I  fell 
back.     Look!  " 

"By  Jove!  the  man  has  been  roweled 
like  a  horse!  Ridden  by  the  nightmare 
with   a  vengeance!     And   we   all  thought 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     139 

him  sensible  enough.  Heaven  send  us 
understanding!  You  like  to  talk,  don't 
you  old  man?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes.  Not  when  I'm  fright- 
ened.    Then  I  want  to  run.     Don't  you?" 

"  Always.  Before  I  give  you  your  sec- 
ond dose,  try  to  tell  me  exactly  what  your 
trouble  is." 

Hummil  spoke  in  broken  whispers  for 
nearly  ten  minutes,  while  Spurstow  looked 
into  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  and  passed  his 
hand  before  them  once  or  twice. 

At  the  end  of  the  narrative  the  silver 
cigarette-case  was  produced,  and  the  last 
words  that  Hummil  said  as  he  fell  back  for 
the  second  time  were:  "  Put  me  quite  to 
sleep;  for  if  I'm  caught,  I  die  —  I  die!  " 

"  Yes,  yes;  we  all  do  that  sooner  or  later, 
thank  Heaven!  who  has  set  a  term  to  our 
miseries,"  said  Spurstow,  settling  the  cush- 
ions under  the  head.  "  It  occurs  to  me 
that  unless  I  drink  something,  I  shall  go 
out  before  my  time.  I've  stopped  sweat- 
ing, and  I  wear  a  seventeen-inch  collar." 
And  he  brewed  himself  scalding  hot  tes, 
which  is  an  excellent  remedy  against  heat- 
apoplexy  if  you  take  three  or  four  cups  of 
it  in  time.     Then  he  watched  the  sleeper. 

"  A  blind  face  that  cries  and  can't  wipe 
its  eyes.  H'm!  Decidedly,  Hummil  ought 
to  go  on  .leave  as  soon  as  possible;  and, 
sane    or    otherwise,    he    undoubtedly    did 


140         Mine  Own  People 

rowel  himself  most  cruelly.  Well,  Heaven 
send  us  understanding!  " 

At  midday  Hummil  rose,  with  an  evil 
taste  in  his  mouth,  but  an  unclouded  eye 
and  a  joyful  heart. 

"  I  was  pretty  bad  last  night,  wasn't  I?  " 
said  he. 

"  I  have  seen  healthier  men.  You  must 
have  had  a  touch  of  the  sun.  Look  here: 
if  I  write  you  a  swingeing  medical  certifi- 
cate, will  you  apply  for  leave  on  the  spot?  " 

"  No." 

"  Why  not?     You  want  it." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can  hold  on  till  the  weather's 
a  little  cooler." 

"  Why  should  you,  if  you  can  get  relieved 
on  the  spot?  " 

"  Burkett  is  the  only  man  who  could  be 
sent;  and  he's  a  born  fool." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  the  line.  You 
aren't  so  important  as  all  that.  Wire  for 
leave,  if  necessary." 

Hummil  looked  very  uncomfortable. 

"  I  can  hold  on  till  the  rains,"  he  said, 
evasively. 

"  You  can't.  Wrire  to  head-quarters  for 
Burkett." 

"  I  won't.  If  you  want  to  know  why, 
particularly,  Burkett  is  married,  and  his 
wife's  just  had  a  kid,  and  she's  up  at  Simla, 
in  the  cool,  and  Burkett  has  a  very  nice 
billet  that  takes  him  into  Simla  from  Sat- 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     141 

urday  to  Monday.  That  little  woman  isn't 
at  all  well.  If  Burkett  was  transferred  she'd 
try  to  follow  him.  If  she  left  the  baby  be- 
hind she'd  fret  herself  to  death.  If.  she 
came  —  and  Burkett's  one  of  those  selfish 
little  beasts  who  are  always  talking  about 
a  wife's  place  being  with  her  husband  — 
she'd  die.  It's  murder  to  bring  a  woman 
here  just  now.  Burkett  has  got  the  phy- 
sique of  a  rat.  If  he  came  here  he'd  go 
out;  and  I  know  she  hasn't  any  money,  and 
I  am  pretty  sure  she'd  go  out  too.  I'm 
salted  in  a  sort  of  way,  and  I'm  not  mar- 
ried. Wait  till  the  rains,  and  then  Burkett 
can  get  thin  down  here.  It'll  do  him  heaps 
of  good." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  intend 
to  face  —  what  you  have  faced,  for  the  next 
fifty-six  nights?  " 

*4  Oh,  it  won't  be  so  bad,  now  you've 
shown  me  a  way  out  of  it.  I  can  always 
wire  to  you.  Besides,  now  I've  once  got 
into  the  way  of  sleeping,  it'll  be  all  right. 
Anyhow,  I  shan't  put  in  for  leave.  That's 
the  long  and  the  short  of  it." 

"  My  great  Scott!  I  thought  all  that  sort 
of  thing  was  dead  and  done  with." 

"  Bosh !  You'd  do  the  same  yourself.  I 
feel  a  new  man,  thanks  to  that  cigarette- 
case.  You're  going  over  to  camp  now, 
aren't  you?  " 


142         Mine  Own  People 

Yes;  but  I'll  try  to  look  you  up  every 
other  day,  if  I  can." 

"  I'm  not  bad  enough  for  that.  I  don't 
want  you  to  bother.  Give  the  coolies  gin 
and  ketchup." 

44  Then  you  feel  all  right?  " 

"  Fit  to  fight  for  my  life,  but  not  to  stand 
out  in  the  sun  talking  to  you.  Go  along, 
old  man,  and  bless  you!  " 

Hummil  turned  on  his  heel  to  face  the 
echoing  desolation  of  his  bungalow,  and 
the  first  thing  he  saw  standing  in  the 
veranda  was  the  figure  of  himself.  He  had 
met  a  similar  apparition  once  before,  when 
he  was  suffering  from  overwork  and  the 
strain  of  the  hot  weather. 

44  This  is  bad  —  already,"  he  said,  rub- 
bing his  eyes.  "  If  the  thing  slides  away 
from  me  all  in  one  piece,  like  a  ghost,  I 
shall  know  it  is  only  my  eyes  and  stomach 
that  are  out  of  order.  If  it  walks,  I  shall 
know  that  my  head  is  going." 

He  walked  to  the  figure,  which  naturally 
kept  at  an  unvarying  distance  from  him, 
as  is  the  use  of  all  specters  that  are  born 
of  overwork.  It  slid  through  the  house 
and  dissolved  into  swimming  specks  within 
the  eyeball  as  soon  as  it  reached  the  burn- 
ing light  of  the  garden.  Hummil  went 
about  his  business  till  even.  When  he  came 
into  dinner  he  found  himself  sitting  at  the 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     143 

table.  The  thing  rose  and  walked  out 
hastily. 

No  living  man  knows  what  that  week 
held  for  Hummil.  An  increase  of  the  epi- 
demic kept  Spurstow  in  camp  among  the 
coolies,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  tele- 
graph to  Mottram,  bidding  him  go  to  the 
bungalow  and  sleep  there.  But  Mottram 
was  forty  miles  away  from  the  nearest  tele- 
graph, and  knew  nothing  of  anything  save 
the  needs  of  the  survey  till  he  met  early  on 
Sunday  morning  Lowndes  and  Spurstow 
heading  toward  HumrmTs  for  the  weekly 
gathering. 

"  Hope  the  poor  chap's  in  a  better  tem- 
per," said  the  former,  swinging  himself  off 
his  horse  at  the  door.  "  I  suppose  he  isn't 
up  yet." 

"  I'll  just  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  If  he's  asleep  there's  no  need  to 
wake  him." 

And  an  instant  later,  by  the  tone  of  Spur- 
stow's  voice  calling  upon  them  to  enter,  the 
men  knew  what  had  happened. 

The  punkah  was  still  being  pulled  over 
the  bed,  but  Hummil  had  departed  this  life 
at  least  three  hours  before. 

The  body  lay  on  its  back,  hands  clinched 
by  the  side,  as  Spurstow  had  seen  it  lying 
seven  nights  previously.  In  the  staring 
-eyes  was  written  terror  beyond  the  expres- 
sion of  any  pen. 


144         Mine  Own  People 

Mottram,  who  had  entered  behind 
Lowndes,  bent  over  the  dead  and  touched 
the  forehead  lightly  with  his  lips.  "  Oh, 
you  lucky,  lucky  devil!"  he  whispered. 

But  Lowndes  had  seen  the  eyes,  and  had 
withdrawn  shuddering  to  the  other  side  of 
the  room. 

"  Poor  chap!  poor  chap!  And  the  last 
time  I  met  him  I  was  angry.  Spurstow, 
we  should  have  watched  him.     Has  he  — " 

Deftly  Spurstow  continued  his  investiga- 
tion, ending  by  a  search  round  the  room. 

"  No,  he  hasn't,"  he  snapped.  "  There's 
no  trace  of  anything.    Call  in  the  servants." 

They  came,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  whis- 
pering and  peering  over  each  other's 
shoulders. 

"  When  did  your  sahib  go  to  bed?  "  said 
Spurstow. 

"  At  eleven  or  ten,  we  think,"  said  Hum- 
mil's  personal  servant. 

"He  was  well  then?  But  how  should 
you  know?  " 

"  He  was  not  ill,  as  far  as  our  compre- 
hension extended.  But  he  had  slept  very 
little  for  three  nights.  This  I  know,  be- 
cause I  saw  him  walking  much,  and  espe- 
cially in  the  heart  of  the  night." 

As  Spurstow  was  arranging  the  sheet,  a 
big,  straight-necked  hunting-spur  tumbled 
on  the  ground.  The  doctor  groaned.  The 
personal  servant  peeped  at  the  body. 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     145 

"What  do  you  think,  Chuma? "  said 
Spurstow,  catching  the  look  in  the  dark 
face. 

"  Heaven-born,  in  my  poor  opinion,  this 
that  was  my  master  has  descended  into  the 
Dark  Places,  and  there  has  been  caught, 
because  he  was  not  able  to  escape  with 
sufficient  speed.  We  have  the  spur  for  evi- 
dence that  he  fought  with  Fear.  Thus 
have  I  seen  men  of  my  race  do  with  thorns 
when  a  spell  was  laid  upon  them  to  over- 
take them  in  their  sleeping  hours  and  they 
dared  not  sleep." 

,4  Chuma,  you're  a  mud-head.  Go  out 
and  prepare  seals  to  be  set  on  the  sahib's 
property." 

"  God  has  made  the  heaven-born.  God 
has  made  me.  Who  are  we,  to  inquire  into 
the  dispensations  of  God?  I  will  bid  the 
other  servants  hold  aloof  while  you  are 
reckoning  the  tale  of  the  sahib's  property. 
They  are  all  thieves,  and  would  steal." 

"  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  he  died  from 
—  oh,  anything:  stopping  of  the  heart's 
action,  heat-apoplexy,  or  some  other  visita- 
tion," said  Spurstow  to  his  companions. 
"  We  must  make  an  inventory  of  his  effects, 
and  so  on." 

"  He  was  scared  to  death,"  insisted 
Lowndes.  "  Look  at  those  eyes !  For 
pity's  sake,  don't  let  him  be  buried  with 
them  open !  " 


146         Mine  Own  People 

"  Whatever  it  was,  he's  out  of  all  the 
trouble  now,"  said  Mottram,  softly. 

Spurstow  was  peering  into  the  open  eyes. 

"  Come  here,"  said  he.  "  Can  you  see 
anything  there?  " 

"  I  can't  face  it!  "  whimpered  Lowndes. 
"  Cover  up  the  face!  Is  there  any  fear  on 
earth  that  can  turn  a  man  into  that  like- 
ness? It's  ghastly.  Oh,  Spurstow,  cover 
him  up!  " 

"No  fear  —  on  earth,"  said  Spurstow. 
Mottram  leaned  over  his  shoulder  and 
looked  intently. 

"  I  see  nothing  except  some  gray  blurs 
in  the  pupil.  There  can  be  nothing  there, 
you  know." 

"  Even  so.  Well,  let's  think.  It'll  take 
half  a  day  to  knock  up  any  sort  of  coffin; 
and  he  must  have  died  at  midnight. 
Lowndes,  old  man,  go  out  and  tell  the 
coolies  to  break  ground  next  to  Jevins' 
grave.  Mottram,  go  round  the  house  with 
Chuma  and  see  that  the  seals  are  put  on 
things.  Send  a  couple  of  men  to  me  here, 
and  I'll  arrange." 

The  strong-armed  servants  when  they 
returned  to  their  own  kind  told  a  strange 
story  of  the  doctor  sahib  vainly  trying  to 
call  their  master  back  to  life  by  magic  arts 
—  to  wit,  the  holding  of  a  little  green  box 
opposite  each  of  the  dead  man's  eyes,  of  a 
frequent  clicking  of  the  same,  and  of  a  be- 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage    1 47 

wildered  muttering  on  the  part  of  the  doc- 
tor sahib,  who  subsequently  took  the  little 
green  box  away  with  him. 

The  resonant  hammering  of  a  coffin-lid 
is  no  pleasant  thing  to  hear,  but  those  who 
have  experience  maintain  that  much  more 
terrible  is  the  soft  swish  of  the  bed-linen, 
the  reeving  and  unreeving  of  the  bed-tapes, 
when  he  who  has  fallen  by  the  road-side  is 
appareled  for  burial,  sinking  gradually  as 
the  tapes  are  tied  over,  till  the  swaddled 
shape  touches  the  floor  and  there  is  no  pro- 
test against  the  indignity  of  hasty  disposal. 

At  the  last  moment  Lowndes  was  seized 
with  scruples  of  conscience.  "  Ought  you 
to  read  the  service  —  from  beginning  to 
end?  "  said  he. 

"  I  intend  to.  You're  my  senior  as  a 
civilian.     You  can  take  it,  if  you  like." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  for  a  moment.  I 
only  thought  if  we  could  get  a  chaplain 
from  somewhere  —  I'm  willing  to  ride  any- 
where —  and  give  poor  Hummil  a  better 
chance.     That's  all." 

"Bosh!"  said  Spurstow,  as  he  framed 
his  lips  to  the  tremendous  words  that  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  burial  service. 

After  breakfast  they  smoked  a  pipe  in 
silence  to  the  memory  of  the  dead.  Then 
said  Spurstow,  absently: 

"  Tisn't  in  medical  science." 


148         Mine  Own  People 

"What?" 

"  Things  in  a  dead  man's  eyes." 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  leave  that  horror 
alone!  "  said  Lowndes.  "  I've  seen  a  na- 
tive die  of  fright  when  a  tiger  chivied  him. 
I  know  what  killed  Hummil." 

"The  deuce  you  do!  I'm  going  to  try 
to  see."  And  the  doctor  retreated  into  the 
bathroom  with  a  Kodak  camera,  splashing 
and  grunting  for  ten  minutes.  Then  there 
was  the  sound  of  something  being  ham- 
mered to  pieces,  and  Spurstow  emerged, 
very  white  indeed. 

"Have  you  got  a  picture?"  said  Mot- 
tram.     "What  does  the  thing  look  like?" 

"  Nothing  there.  It  was  impossible,  of 
course.  You  needn't  look,  Mottram.  I've 
torn  up  the  films.  There  was  nothing 
there.     It  was  impossible." 

"  That,"  said  Lowndes,  very  distinctly, 
watching  the  shaking  hand  striving  to  re- 
light the  pipe,  "  is  a  damned  lie." 

There  was  no  further  speech  for  a  long 
time.  The  hot  wind  whistled  without,  and 
the  dry  trees  sobbed.  Presently  the  daily 
train,  winking  brass,  burnished  steel,  and 
spouting  steam,  pulled  up,  panting  in  the 
intense  glare.  "  We'd  better  go  on  on 
that,"  said  Spurstow.  "  Go  back  to  work. 
I've  written  my  certificate.  We  can't  do 
any  more  good  here.     Come  on." 

No  one  moved.     It  is  not  oleasant  to  face 


At  the  End  of  the  Passage     149 

railway  journeys  at  midday  in  June.  Spur- 
stow  gathered  up  his  hat  and  whip,  and, 
turning  in  the  doorway,  said  : 

11  There  may  be  heaven  —  there  must  be  hell. 
Meantime,  there  is  our  life  here.    We-ell  ?  " 

But  neither  Mottram  nor  Lowndes  had 
any  answer  to  the  question. 


THE  INCARNATION 

OF 

KRISHNA   MULVANEY 


Once  upon  a  time,  and  very  far  from 
this  land,  lived  three  men  who  loved  each 
other  so  greatly  that  neither  man  nor 
woman  could  come  between  them.  They 
were  in  no  sense  refined,  nor  to  be  admit- 
ted to  the  outer  door-mats  of  decent  folk, 
because  they  happened  to  be  private  sol- 
diers in  her  majesty's  army;  and  private 
soldiers  of  that  employ  have  small  time  for 
self-culture.  Their  duty  is  to  keep  them- 
selves and  their  accouterments  specklessly 
clean,  to  refrain  from  getting-  drunk  more 
often  than  is  necessary,  to  obey  their  supe- 
riors, and  to  pray  for  a  war.  All  these 
things  my  friends  accomplished,  and  of 
their  own  motion  threw  in  some  fighting- 
work  for  which  the  Army  Regulations  did 
not  call.  Their  fate  sent  them  to  serve  in 
India,  which  is  not  a  golden  country, 
though  poets  have  sung  otherwise.     There 

150 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney      1 5 1 

men   die  with   great   swiftness,   and   those 
who  live  suffer  many  and  curious  things. 
I  do  not  think  that  my  friends  concerned 
themselves  much  with  the  social  or  political 
aspects  of  the  East.     They  attended  a  not 
unimportant  war  on  the  northern  frontier, 
another  one  on  our  western  boundary,  and 
a    third    in    Upper    Burmah.     Then    their 
regiment  sat  still  to  recruit,  and  the  bound- 
less monotony  of  cantonment  life  was  their 
portion.     They  were  drilled  morning  and 
evening  on  the  same  dusty  parade-ground. 
They   wandered   up   and   down   the   same 
stretch  of  dusty  white  road,  attended  the 
same  church  and  the  same  grog-shop,  and 
slept  in  the  same  lime-washed  barn  of  a 
barrack   for  two   long  years.     There   was 
Mulvaney,  the  father  in  the  craft,  who  had 
served  with  various  regiments,  from  Ber- 
muda to  Halifax,  old  in  war,  scarred,  reck- 
less, resourceful,  and  in  his  pious  hours  an 
unequaled  soldier.     To  him  turned  for  help 
and  comfort  six  and  a  half  feet  of  slow- 
moving,  heavy-footed  Yorkshireman,  born 
on  the  wolds,  bred  in  the  dales,  and  edu- 
cated chiefly  among  the  carriers'  carts  at 
the    back    of    York    railway-station.     His 
name  was  Learoyd,  and  his  chief  virtue  an 
unmitigated  patience  which  helped  him  to 
win  fights.     How  Ortheris,  a  fox-terrier  of 
a  Cockney,  ever  came  to  be  one  of  the  trio, 
is  a  mystery  which  even  to-day  I  can  not 


152         Mine  Own  People 

explain.  "  There  was  always  three  av  us," 
Mulvaney  used  to  say.  "  An'  by  the  grace 
av  God,  so  long  as  our  service  lasts,  three 
av  us  they'll  always  be.     Tis  betther  so." 

They  desired  no  companionship  beyond 
their  own,  and  evil  it  was  for  any  man  of 
the  regiment  who  attempted  dispute  with 
them.  Physical  argument  was  out  of  the 
question  as  regarded  Mulvaney  and  the 
Yorkshireman;  and  assault  on  Ortheris 
meant  a  combined  attack  from  these  twain 
—  a  business  which  no  five  men  were  anxi- 
ous to  have  on  their  hands.  Therefore  they 
flourished,  sharing  their  drinks,  their 
tobacco,  and  their  money,  good  luck  and 
evil,  battle  and  the  chances  of  death,  life 
and  the  chances  of  happiness  from  Calicut 
in  southern,  to  Peshawur  in  northern  India. 
Through  no  merit  of  my  own  it  was  my 
good  fortune  to  be  in  a  measure  admitted 
to  their  friendship  —  frankly  by  Mulvaney 
from  the  beginning,  sullenly  and  with  re- 
luctance by  Learoyd,  and  suspiciously  by 
Ortheris,  who  held  to  it  that  no  man  not 
in  the  army  could  fraternize  with  a  red- 
coat. "  Like  to  like,"  said  he.  "  I'm  a 
bloomin'  sodger  —  he's  a  bloomin'  civilian. 
'Taint  natural  —  that's  all." 

But  that  was  not  all.  They  thawed  pro- 
gressively, and  in  the  thawing  told  me  more 
of  their  lives  and  adventures  than  I  am 
likely  to  find  room  for  here. 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    1 5  3 

Omitting  all  else,  this  tale  begins  with 
the  lamentable  thirst  that  was  at  the  begin- 
ning of  First  Causes.  Never  was  such  a 
thirst  —  Mulvaney  told  me  so.  They 
kicked  against  their  compulsory  virtue,  but 
the  attempt  was  only  successful  in  the  case 
of  Ortheris.  He,  whose  talents  were 
many,  went  forth  into  the  highways  and 
stole  a  dog  from  a  "  civilian  " —  videlicet, 
some  one,  he  knew  not  who,  not  in  the 
army.  Now  that  civilian  was  but  newly 
connected  by  marriage  with  the  colonel  of 
the  regiment,  and  outcry  was  made  from 
quarters  least  anticipated  by  Ortheris,  and, 
in  the  end,  he  was  forced,  lest  a  worse  thing 
should  happen,  to  dispose  at  ridiculously 
unremunerative  rates  of  as  promising  a 
small  terrier  as  ever  graced  one  end  of  a 
leading-string.  The  purchase-money  was 
barely  sufficient  for  one  small  outbreak 
which  led  him  to  the  guard-room.  He 
escaped,  however,  with  nothing  worse  than 
a  severe  reprimand,  and  a  few  hours  of 
punishment  drill.  Not  for  nothing  had  he 
acquired  the  reputation  of  being  "  the  best 
soldier  of  his  inches "  in  the  regiment. 
Mulvaney  had  taught  personal  cleanliness 
and  efficiency  as  the  first  articles  of  his 
companions'  creed.  "  A  dhirty  man,"  he 
was  used  to  say,  in  the  speech  of  his  kind, 
"  goes  to  clink  for  a  weakness  in  the  knees, 
an'  is  coort-martialed  for  a  pair  av  socks 


154         Mine  Own  People 

missin';  but  a  clane  man,  such  as  is  an 
ornament  to  his  service  —  a  man  whose 
buttons  are  gold,  whose  coat  is  wax  upon 
him,  an'  whose  'couterments  are  wiclout  a 
speck  —  that  man  may,  spakin'  in  reason, 
do  fwhat  he  likes,  an'  dhrink  from  day  to 
divil.     That's  the  pride  av  bein'  dacint." 

We  sat  together,  upon  a  day,  in  the  shade 
of  a  ravine  far  from  the  barracks,  where  a 
water-course  used  to  run  in  rainy  weather. 
Behind  us  was  the  scrub  jungle,  in  which 
jackals,  peacocks,  the  gray  wolves  of  the 
Northwestern  Provinces,  and  occasionally 
a  tiger  estrayed  from  Central  India,  were 
supposed  to  dwell.  In  front  lay  the  can- 
tonment, glaring  white  under  a  glaring  sun, 
and  on  either  side  ran  the  broad  road  that 
led  to  Delhi. 

It  was  the  scrub  that  suggested  to  my 
mind  the  wisdom  of  Mulvaney  taking  a 
day's  leave  and  going  upon  a  shooting  tour. 
The  peacock  is  a  holy  bird  throughout 
India,  and  whoso  slays  one  is  in  danger  of 
being  mobbed  by  the  nearest  villagers;  but 
on  the  last  occasion  that  Mulvaney  had 
gone  forth  he  had  contrived,  without  in 
the  least  offending  local  religious  suscepti- 
bilities, to  return  with  six  beautiful  peacock 
skins  which  he  sold  to  profit.  It  seemed 
just  possible  then  — 

"  But  fwhat  manner  av  use  is  ut  to  me 
goin'  widout  a  dhrink?    The  ground's  pow- 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     155 

dher-dry  underfoot,  an'  ut  gets  unto  the 
throat  fit  to  kill,"  wailed  Mulvaney,  looking 
at  me  reproachfully.  "  An'  a  peacock  is 
not  a  bird  you  can  catch  the  tail  av  onless 
ye  run.  Can  a  man  run  on  wather  —  an' 
jungle- wather,  too?'' 

Ortheris  had  considered  the  question  in 
all  its  bearings.  He  spoke,  chewing  his 
pipe-stem  meditatively: 

"  '  Go  forth,  return  in  glory, 
To  Clusium's  royal  'ome; 
An'  round  these  bloomin'  temples  ang 
The  bloomin'  shields  o'  Rome.' 

You'd  better  go.  You  ain't  to  shoot  your- 
self —  not  while  there's  a  chanst  of  liquor. 
Me  an'  Learoyd  '11  stay  at  'ome  an'  keep 
shop  —  case  o'  anythin'  turnin'  up.  But 
you  go  out  with  a  gas-pipe  gun  an'  ketch 
the  little  peacockses  or  somethin'.  You 
kin  get  one  day's  leave  easy  as  winkin'. 
Go  along  an'  get  it,  an'  get  peacockses  or 
somethin'." 

"  Jock,"  said  Mulvaney,  turning  to  Lea- 
royd, who  was  half  asleep  under  the  shadow 
of  the  bank.     He  roused  slowly. 

"  Sitha,  Mulvaney,  go,"  said  he. 

And  Mulvaney  went,  cursing  his  allies 
with  Irish  fluency  and  barrack-room  point. 

'  Take  note,"  said  he,  when  he  had  won 
his  holiday  and  appeared  dressed  in  his 
roughest  clothes  with  the  only  other  regi- 
mental fowling-piece  in  his  hand  — "  take 


156         Mine  Own  People 

note,  Jock,  an'  you,  Orth'ris,  I  am  goin'  in 
the  face  av  my  own  will  —  all  for  to  please 
you.  I  misdoubt  anythin'  will  come  av 
permiscuous  huntin'  afther  peacockses  in  a 
disolit  Ian' ;  an'  I  know  that  I  will  lie  down 
an'  die  wid  thirrst.  Me  catch  peacockses 
for  you,  ye  lazy  scuts  —  an'  be  sacrificed 
by  the  peasanthry." 

He  waved  a  huge  paw  and  went  away. 

At  twilight,  long  before  the  appointed 
hour,  he  returned  empty-handed,  much  be- 
grimed with  dirt. 

"  Peacockses? "  queried  Ortheris,  from 
the  safe  rest  of  a  barrack-room  table, 
whereon  he  was  smoking  cross-legged, 
Learoyd  fast  asleep  on  a  bench. 

"  Jock,"  said  Mulvaney,  as  he  stirred  up 
the  sleeper.  "  jock,  can  ve  fight?  Will  ye 
fight?" 

Very  slowly  the  meaning  of  the  words 
communicated  itself  to  the  half-roused 
man.  He  understood  —  and  again  —  what 
might  these  things  mean?  Mulvaney  was 
shaking  him  savagely.  Meantime,  the  men 
in  the  room  howled  with  delight.  There 
was  war  in  the  confederacy  at  last  —  war 
and  the  breaking  of  bonds. 

Barrack-room  etiquette  is  stringent.  On 
the  direct  challenge  must  follow  the  direct 
reply.  This  is  more  binding  than  the  tie 
of  tried  friendship.  Once  again  Mulvaney 
repeated  the  question.     Learoyd  answered 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     157 

by  the  only  means  in  his  power,  and  so 
swiftly,  that  the  Irishman  had  barely  time 
to  avoid  the  blow.  The  laughter  around 
increased.  Learoyd  looked  bewilderedly 
at  his  friend  —  himself  as  greatly  bewil- 
dered. Ortheris  dropped  from  the  table. 
His  world  was  falling. 

"Come  outside,"  said  Mulvaney;  and  as 
the  occupants  of  the  barrack-room  pre- 
pared joyously  to  follow,  he  turned  and 
said  furiously:  "  There  will  be  no  fight 
this  night — onless  any  wan  av  you  is  wish- 
ful to  assist.  The  man  that  does,  follows 
on." 

No  man  moved.  The  three  passed  out 
into  the  moonlight,  Learoyd  fumbling  with 
the  buttons  of  his  coat.  The  parade- 
ground  was  deserted  except  for  the  scurry- 
ing jackals.  Mulvaney's  impetuous  rush 
carried  his  companions  far  into  the  open 
ere  Learoyd  attempted  to  turn  round  and 
continue  the  discussion. 

"  Be  still  now.  'Twas  my  fault  for  be- 
ginnin'  things  in  the  middle  av  an  end, 
Jock.  I  should  ha'  comminst  wid  an  ex- 
planation; but  Jock,  dear,  on  your  sowl, 
are  ye  fit,  think  you,  for  the  finest  fight 
that  iver  was  —  betther  than  fightin'  me? 
Considher  before  ye  answer." 

More  than  ever  puzzled,  Learoyd  turned 
round  two  or  three  times,  felt  an  arm, 
kicked  tentatively,  and  answered:     "  Ah'm 


158         Mine  Own  People 

fit."  He  was  accustomed  to  fight  blindly 
at  the  bidding  of  the  superior  mind. 

They  sat  them  down,  the  men  looking 
on  from  afar,  and  Mulvaney  untangled 
himself  in  mighty  words. 

"Followin'  your  fools'  scheme,  I  wint  out 
into  the  thrackless  desert  beyond  the  bar- 
ricks.  An'  there  I  met  a  pious  Hindoo 
dhriving  a  bullock-kyart.  I  tuk  ut  for 
granted  he  wud  be  delighted  for  to  convoy 
me  a  piece,  an'  I  jumped  in " 

"  You  long,  lazy,  black-haired  swine," 
drawled  Ortheris,  who  would  have  done  the 
same  thing  under  similar  circumstances. 

"  Twas  the  height  av  policy.  That  nay- 
gur  man  dhruv  miles  an'  miles  —  as  far  as 
the  new  railway  line  they're  buildin'  now 
back  av  the  Tavi  River.  '  'Tis  a  kyart  for 
dhirt  only,'  says  he  now  an'  again  timor- 
ously, to  get  me  out  av  ut.  '  Dhirt  I  am/ 
sez  I,  '  an'  the  dhryest  that  you  iver 
kyarted.  Dhrive  on,  me  son,  an'  glory  be 
wid  you/  At  that  I  wint  to  slape,  an'  took 
no  heed  till  he  pulled  up  on  the  embank- 
ment av  the  line  where  the  coolies  were 
pilin'  mud.  There  was  a  matther  av  two 
thousand  coolies  on  that  line  —  you  remim- 
ber  that.  Prisintly  a  bell  rang,  an'  they 
throops  off  to  a  big  pay-shed.  '  Where's 
the  white  man  in  charge?'  sez  I  to  my 
kyart-driver.  '  In  the  shed/  sez  he,  '  en- 
gaged on  a  rifrle.'     '  A  f what  ?  '  sez  I.     '  Rif- 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    159 

fle,'  sez  he.  '  You  take  ticket.  He  takes 
money.  You  get  nothin'.'  'Oho!'  sez  I, 
1  that's  what  the  shuperior  an'  cultivated 
man  calls  a  raffle,  me  misbeguided  child  av 
darkness  an'  sin.  Lead  on  to  that  raffle, 
though  fwhat  the  mischief  'tis  doin'  so  far 
away  from  uts  home  —  which  is  the  char- 
ity-bazaar at  Christmas,  an'  the  colonel's 
wife  grinnin'  behind  the  tea-table  —  is  more 
than  I  know.'  Wid  that  I  wint  to  the  shed 
an'  found  'twas  pay-day  among  the  coolies. 
Their  wages  was  on  a  table  forninst  a  big, 
fine,  red  buck  av  a  man  —  sivun  fut  high, 
four  fut  wide,  an'  three  fut  thick,  wid  a  fist 
on  him  like  a  corn-sack.  He  was  payin' 
the  coolies  fair  an'  easy,  but  he  wud  ask 
each  man  if  he  wud  raffle  that  month,  an' 
each  man  sez,  '  Yes,  av  course.'  Thin  he 
would  deduct  from  their  wages  accordin'. 
Whin  all  was  paid,  he  filled  an  ould  cigar- 
box  full  av  gun-wads  an'  scattered  ut 
among  the  coolies.  They  did  not  take 
much  joy  av  that  performince,  an'  small 
wondher.  A  man  close  to  me  picks  up 
a  black  gun-wad,  an'  sings  out,  '  I  have 
ut.'  '  Good  may  ut  do  you,'  sez  I.  The 
coolie  went  forward  to  this  big,  fine  red 
man,  who  threw  a  cloth  off  of  the  most 
sumpshus,  jooled,  enameled,  an'  variously 
bediviled  sedan-chair  I  iver  saw." 

"  Sedan-chair!     Put  your  'ead  in  a  bag. 
That  was  a  palanquin.     Don't  yer  know  a 


160         Mine  Own  People 

palanquin  when  you  see  it?"  said  Ortheris, 
with  great  scorn. 

"  I  chuse  to  call  ut  sedan-chair,  an'  chair 
ut  shall  be,  little  man,"  continued  the  Irish- 
man. "  'Twas  a  most  amazin'  chair  —  all 
lined  wid  pink  silk  an'  fitted  wid  red  silk 
curtains.  '  Here  ut  is,'  sez  the  red  man. 
4  Here  ut  is,'  sez  the  coolie,  an'  he  grinned 
weakly  ways.  'Is  ut  any  use  to  you?' 
sez  the  red  man.  'No,'  sez  the  coolie; 
*  I'd  like  to  make  a  presint  av  ut  to 
you.'  '  I  am  graciously  pleased  to  ac- 
cept that  same,'  sez  the  red  man;  an* 
at  that  all  the  coolies  cried  aloud  fwhat 
was  mint  for  cheerful  notes,  an'  wint 
back  to  their  diggin',  lavin'  me  alone  in 
the  shed.  The  red  man  saw  me,  an'  his 
face  grew  blue  on  his  big,  fat  neck. 
'  Fwhat  d'you  want  here?  '  sez  he.  '  Stand- 
in'-room  an'  no  more/  sez  I,  '  onless  it  may 
be  fwhat  ye  niver  had,  an'  that's  manners, 
ye  rafflin'  ruffian/  for  I  was  not  goin'  to 
have  the  service  throd  upon.  '  Out  of  this/ 
sez  he.  '  I'm  in  charge  av  this  section  av 
construction/  '  I'm  in  charge  av  mesilf/ 
sez  I,  *  an'  it's  like  I  will  stay  awhile.  D'ye 
raffle  much  in  these  parts?  '  '  Fwhat's  that 
to  you?'  sez  he.  *  Nothin'/  sez  I,  'but  a 
great  dale  to  you,  for  begad  I'm  thinkm' 
you  get  the  full  half  av  your  revenue  from 
that  sedan-chair.  Is  ut  always  raffled  so?' 
I  sez,  an'  wid  that  I  wint  to  a  coolie  to  ask 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     1 6 1 

questions.  Bhoys,  that  man's  name  is 
Dearsley,  an'  he's  been  raffiin'  that  ould 
sedan-chair  monthly  this  matter  av  nine 
months.  Ivry  coolie  on  the  section  takes 
a  ticket  —  or  he  gives  'em  the  go  —  wanst 
a  month  on  pay-day.  Ivry  coolie  that  wins 
ut  gives  ut  back  to  him,  for  'tis  too  big  to 
carry  away,  an'  he'd  sack  the  man  that 
thried  to  sell  ut.  That  Dearsley  has  been 
makin'  the  rowlin'  wealth  av  Roshus  by 
nefarious  rafflin'.  Two  thousand  coolies 
defrauded  wanst  a  month !  " 

"  Dom  t'  coolies.  Hast  gotten  t'  cheer, 
man?  "  said  Learoyd. 

"  Hould  on.  Havin'  onearthed  this 
amazin'  an'  stupenjus  fraud  committed  by 
the  man  Dearsley,  I  hild  a  council  av  war; 
he  thryin'  all  the  time  to  sejuce  me  into  a 
fight  wid  opprobrious  language.  That 
sedan-chair  niver  belonged  by  right  to  any 
foreman  av  coolies.  'Tis  a  king's  chair  or 
a  quane's.  There's  gold  on  ut  an'  silk  an* 
all  manner  av  trapesemints.  Bhoys,  'tis  not 
for  me  to  countenance  any  sort  av  wrong- 
doin' —  me  bein'  the  ould  man  —  but  — 
any  way  he  has  had  ut  nine  months,  an'  he 
dare  not  make  throuble  av  ut  was  taken 
from  him.  Five  miles  away,  or  ut  may  be 
six " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  the  jackals 
howled  merrily.  Learoyd  bared  one  arm 
and    contemplated    it    in    the    moonlight. 


1 62         Mine  Own  People 

Then  he  nodded  partly  to  himself  and 
partly  to  his  friends.  Ortheris  wriggled 
with  suppressed  emotion. 

"  I  thought  ye  wud  see  the  reasonableness 
av  tit/  said  Mulvaney.  "  I  made  bould  to 
say  as  much  to  the  man  before.  He  was 
for  a  direct  front  attack  —  fut,  horse,  an' 
guns  —  an'  all  for  nothin',  seem'  that  I  had 
no  transport  to  convey  the  machine  away. 
'  I  will  not  argue  wid  you/  sez  I,  '  this  day, 
but  subsequently,  Mister  Dearsley,  me  raf- 
flin'  jool,  we'll  talk  ut  out  lengthways.  Tis 
no  good  policy  to  swindle  the  naygur  av  his 
hard-earned  emolumints,  an'  by  presint  in- 
formashin' — 'twas  the  kyart  man  that  tould 
me  — '  ye've  been  perpethrating  that  same 
for  nine  months.  But  I'm  a  just  man/  sez 
I,  '  an'  overlookin'  the  presumpshin  that 
yondher  settee  wid  the  gilt  top  was  not 
come  by  honust ' —  at  that  he  turned  sky- 
green,  so  I  knew  things  was  more  thrue 
than  tellable  — '  I'm  willin'  to  compound 
the  felony  for  this  month's  winnin's/  " 

"  Ah !  Ho !  "  from  Learoyd  and  Ortheris. 

"  That  man  Dearsley's  rushin'  on  his 
fate,"  continued  Mulvaney,  solemnly  wag- 
ging his  head.  "  All  hell  had  no  name  bad 
enough  for  me  that  tide.  Faith,  he  called 
me  a  robber!  Me!  that  was  savin'  him 
from  continuin'  in  his  evil  ways  widout  a 
remonstrince  —  an'  to  a  man  av  conscience 
a  remonstrince  may  change  the  chune  av 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    163 

his  life.  '  Tis  not  for  me  to  argue/  sez  I, 
1  fwhatever  ye  are,  Mister  Dearsley,  but  by 
my  hand  I'll  take  away  the  temptation  for 
you  that  lies  in  that  sedan-chair.'  'You 
will  have  to  fight  me  for  ut,'  sez  he,  '  for 
well  I  know  you  will  never  dare  make  re- 
port to  any  one.'  '  Fight  I  will,'  sez  I,  '  but 
not  this  day,  for  I'm  rejuced  for  want  av 
nourishment.'  '  Ye're  an  ould  bould  hand/ 
sez  he,  sizin'  me  up  an'  down;  '  an  a  jool  av 
a  fight  we  will  have.  Eat  now  an'  dhrink, 
an'  go  your  way.'  Wid  that  he  gave  me 
some  hump  an'  whisky  —  good  whisky  — 
an'  we  talked  av  this  an'  that  the  while. 
'  It  goes  hard  on  me  now/  sez  I,  wipin' 
my  mouth,  '  to  confiscate  that  piece  av  fur- 
niture; but  justice  is  justice.'  'Ye've  not 
got  ut  yet/  sez  he ;  '  there's  the  fight  be- 
tween.' '  There  is/  sez  I,  '  an'  a  good  fight. 
Ye  shall  have  the  pick  av  the  best  quality 
in  my  regiment  for  the  dinner  you  have 
given  this  day.'  Thin  I  came  hot-foot  for 
you  two.  Hould  your  tongue,  the  both. 
'Tis  this  way.  To-morrow  we  three  will 
go  there  an'  he  shall  have  his  pick  betune 
me  an'  Jock.  Jock's  a  deceivin'  fighter,  for 
he  is  all  fat  to  the  eyes,  an'  he  moves  slow. 
Now  I'm  all  beef  to  the  look,  an'  I  move 
quick.  By  my  reckonin',  the  Dearsley  man 
won't  take  me;  so  me  an'  Orth'ris  '11  see  fair 
play.  Jock,  I  tell  you,  'twill  be  big  fightin' 
—  whipped,  wid  the  cream  above  the  jam. 


164         Mine  Own  People 

Afther  the  business  'twill  take  a  good  three 
av  us  —  Jock  '11  be  very  hurt  —  to  take 
away  that  sedan-chair." 

"  Palanquin."     This  from  Ortheris. 

"  Fwhatever  ut  is,  we  must  have  ut. 
Tis  the  only  sellin'  piece  av  property  widin 
reach  that  we  can  get  so  cheap.  An' 
fwhat's  a  fight  afther  all?  He  has  robbed 
the  naygur  man  dishonust.  We  rob  him 
honust." 

"  But  wot'll  we  do  with  the  bloomin' 
harticle  when  we've  got  it?  Them  palan- 
quins are  as  big  as  'ouses,  an'  uncommon 
'ard  to  sell,  as  McCleary  said  when  ye  stole 
the  sentry-box  from  the  Curragh." 

"  Who's  goin'  to  do  t'  fightin'?  "  said  Lea- 
royd,  and  Ortheris  subsided.  The  three 
returned  to  barracks  without  a  word.  Mul- 
vaney's  last  argument  clinched  the  matter. 
This  palanquin  was  property,  vendible  and 
to  be  attained  in  the  least  embarrassing 
fashion.  It  would  eventually  become  beer. 
Great  was  Mulvaney. 

Next  afternoon  a  procession  of  three 
formed  itself  and  disappeared  into  the  scrub 
in  the  direction  of  the  new  railway  line. 
Learoyd  alone  was  without  care,  for  Mul- 
vaney dived  darkly  into  the  future  and  lit- 
tle Ortheris  feared  the  unknown. 

What  befell  at  that  interview  in  the 
lonely  pay-shed  by  the  side  of  the  half-built 
embankment  only  a  few  hundred  coolies 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     165 

know,  and  their  tale  is  a  confusing  one, 
running  thus: 

"  We  were  at  work.  Three  men  in  red 
coats  came.  They  saw  the  sahib  —  Dears- 
ley  Sahib.  They  made  oration,  and  notice- 
ably the  small  man  among  the  red-coats. 
Dearsley  Sahib  also  made  oration,  and  used 
many  very  strong  words.  Upon  this  talk 
they  departed  together  to  an  open  space, 
and  there  the  fat  man  in  the  red  coat  fought 
with  Dearsley  Sahib  after  the  custom  of 
white  men  —  with  his  hands,  making  no 
noise,  and  never  at  all  pulling  Dearsley 
Sahib's  hair.  Such  of  us  as  were  not  afraid 
beheld  these  things  for  just  so  long  a  time 
as  a  man  needs  to  cook  the  midday  meal. 
The  small  man  in  the  red  coat  had  pos- 
sessed himself  of  Dearsley  Sahib's  watch. 
No,  he  did  not  steal  that  watch.  He  held 
it  in  his  hands,  and  at  certain  season  made 
outcry,  and  the  twain  ceased  their  combat, 
which  was  like  the  combat  of  young  bulls 
in  spring.  Both  men  were  soon  all  red, 
but  Dearsley  Sahib  was  much  more  red 
than  the  other.  Seeing  this,  and  fearing 
for  his  life  —  because  we  greatly  loved  him 
—  some  fifty  of  us  made  shift  to  rush  upon 
the  red  coats.  But  a  certain  man  —  very 
black  as  to  the  hair,  and  in  no  way  to  be 
confused  with  the  small  man,  or  the  fat 
man  who  fought  —  that  man,  we  affirm, 
ran  upon  us,  and  of  us  he  embraced  some 


1 66         Mine  Own  People 

ten  or  fifty  in  both  arms,  and  beat  our  heads 
together,  so  that  our  livers  turned  to  water, 
and  we  ran  away.  It  is  not  good  to  inter- 
fere in  the  fightings  of  white  men.  After 
that  Dearsley  Sahib  fell  and  did  not  rise; 
these  men  jumped  upon  his  stomach  and 
despoiled  him  of  all  his  money,  and  at- 
tempted to  fire  the  pay-shed,  and  departed. 
Is  it  true  that  Dearsley  Sahib  makes  no 
complaint  of  these  latter  things  having 
been  done?  We  were  senseless  with  fear, 
and  do  not  at  all  remember.  There  was 
no  palanquin  near  the  pay-shed.  What  do 
we  know  about  palanquins.  Is  it  true  that 
Dearsley  Sahib  does  not  return  to  this 
place,  on  account  of  sickness,  for  ten  days? 
This  is  the  fault  of  those  bad  men  in  the  red 
coats,  who  should  be  severely  punished; 
for  Dearsley  Sahib  is  both  our  father  and 
mother,  and  we  love  him  much.  Yet  if 
Dearsley  Sahib  does  not  return  to  this 
place  at  all,  we  will  speak  the  truth.  There 
was  a  palanquin,  for  the  up-keep  of  which 
we  were  forced  to  pay  nine  tenths  of  our 
monthly  wage.  On  such  mulctings  Dears- 
ley  Sahib  allowed  us  to  make  obeisance  to 
him  before  the  palanquin.  What  could  we 
do?  We  were  poor  men.  He  took  a  full 
half  of  our  wages.  Will  the  government 
repay  us  those  moneys?  Those  three  men 
in  red  coats  bore  the  palanquin  upon  their 
shoulders   and   departed.     All   the   money 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    167 

that  Dearsley  Sahib  had  taken  from  us  was 
in  the  cushions  of  that  palanquin.  There- 
fore they  stole  it.  Thousands  of  rupees 
were  there  —  all  our  money.  It  was  our 
bank-box,  to  fill  which  we  cheerfully  con- 
tributed to  Dearsley  Sahib  three  sevenths 
of  our  monthly  wage.  Why  does  the 
white  man  look  upon  us  with  the  eye  of 
disfavor?  Before  God,  there  was  a  palan- 
quin, and  now  there  is  no  palanquin;  and 
if  they  send  the  police  here  to  make  inqui- 
sition, we  can  only  say  that  there  never 
has  been  any  palanquin.  Why  should  a 
palanquin  be  near  these  works?  We  are 
poor  men,  and  we  know  nothing." 

Such  is  the  simplest  version  of  the  sim- 
plest story  connected  with  the  descent  upon 
Dearsley.  From  the  lips  of  the  coolies  I 
received  it.  Dearsley  himself  was  in  no 
condition  to  say  anything,  and  Mulvaney 
preserved  a  massive  silence,  broken  only 
by  the  occasional  licking  of  the  lips.  He 
had  seen  a  fight  so  gorgeous  that  even  his 
power  of  speech  was  taken  from  him.  I 
respected  that  reserve  until,  three  days  after 
the  affair,  I  discovered  in  a  disused  stable 
in  my  quarters  a  palanquin  of  unchastened 
splendor  —  evidently  in  past  days  the  litter 
of  a  queen.  The  pole  whereby  it  swung 
between  the  shoulders  of  the  bearers  was 
rich  with  the  painted  papier-mache  of  Cash- 
mere.    The  shoulder-pads  were  of  yellow 


1 68         Mine  Own  People 

silk.  The  panels  of  the  litter  itself  were 
ablaze  with  the  loves  of  all  the  gods  and 
goddesses  of  the  Hindoo  Pantheon  —  lac- 
quer on  cedar.  The  cedar  sliding  doors 
were  fitted  with  hasps  of  translucent  Jaipur 
enamel,  and  ran  in  grooves  shod  with  sil- 
ver. The  cushions  were  of  brocaded  Delhi 
silk,  and  the  curtains,  which  once  hid  any 
glimpse  of  the  beauty  of  the  king's  palace, 
were  stiff  with  gold.  Closer  investigation 
showed  that  the  entire  fabric  was  every- 
where rubbed  and  discolored  by  time  and 
wear ;  but  even  thus  it  was  sufficiently  gor- 
geous to  deserve  housing  on  the  threshold  of 
a  royal  zenana.  I  found  no  fault  with  it,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  in  my  stable.  Then,  trying 
to  lift  it  by  the  sliver-shod  shoulder-pole,  I 
laughed.  The  road  from  Dearsley's  pay- 
shed  to  the  cantonment  was  a  narrow  and 
uneven  one,  and  traversed  by  three  very 
inexperienced  palanquin-bearers,  one  of 
whom  was  sorely  battered  about  the  head, 
must  have  been  a  path  of  torment.  Still 
I  did  not  quite  recognize  the  right  of  the 
three  musketeers  to  turn  me  into  a  "  fence." 
"  I'm  askin'  you  to  warehouse  ut,"  said 
Mulvaney,  when  he  was  brought  to  con- 
sider the  question.  "  There's  no  steal  in  ut. 
Dearsley  tould  us  we  cud  have  ut  if  we 
fought.  Jock  fought  —  an'  oh,  sorr,  when 
the  throuble  was  at  uts  finest  an'  Jock  was 
bleedin  'like  a  stuck  pig,  an'  little  Orth'ris 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    169 

was  shquealin'  on  one  leg,  chewin'  big  bites 
out  av  Dearsley's  watch,  I  wild  ha'  given 
my  place  in  the  fight  to  have  had  you  see 
wan  round.  He  tuk  Jock,  as  I  suspicioned 
he  would,  an*  Jock  was  deceptive.  Nine 
roun's  they  were  even  matched,  an'  at  the 
tenth —  About  that  palanquin  now. 
There's  not  the  lest  trouble  in  the  world, 
or  we  wud  not  ha'  brought  ut  here.  You 
will  ondherstand  that  the  queen  —  God 
bless  her!  —  does  not  reckon  for  a  privit 
soldier  to  kape  elephints  an'  palanquins  an* 
sich  in  barricks.  Afther  we  had  dhragged 
ut  down  from  Dearsley's  through  that  cruel 
scrub  that  n'r  broke  Orth'ris'  heart,  we  set 
ut  in  the  ravine  for  a  night ;  an'  a  thief  av  a 
porcupine  an'  a  civit-cat  av  a  jackal  roosted 
in  ut,  as  well  we  knew  in  the  mornin'.  I 
put  ut  to  you,  sorr,  is  an  elegant  palanquin, 
fit  for  the  princess,  the  natural  abidin'-place 
av  all  the  vermin  in  cantonmints?  We 
brought  ut  to  you,  afther  dhark,  and  put 
ut  in  your  shtable.  Do  not  let  your  con- 
science prick.  Think  av  the  rejoicin'  men 
in  the  pay-shed  yonder  —  lookin'  at  Dears- 
ley  wid  his  head  tied  up  in  a  towel  —  an* 
well  knowin'  that  they  can  dhraw  their  pay 
ivery  month  widout  stoppages  for  riffles. 
Indirectly,  sorr,  you  have  rescued  from  an 
onprincipled  son  av  a  night-hawk  the  peas- 
antry av  a  numerous  village.  An'  besides, 
will  I  let  that  sedan-chair  rot  on  our  hands? 


170        Mine  Own  People 

Not  I.  Tis  not  every  day  a  piece  av  pure 
joolry  comes  into  the  market.  There's  not 
a  king  widin  these  forty  miles  " —  he  waved 
his  hand  round  the  dusty  horizon  — "  not  a 
king  wud  not  be  glad  to  buy  it.  Some  day 
meself,  whin  I  have  leisure,  I'll  take  ut  up 
along  the  road  an'  dispose  av  ut." 

"  How?  "  said  I. 

"  Get  into  ut,  av  course,  an'  keep  wan 
eye  open  through  the  curtain.  Whin  I  see 
a  likely  man  of  the  native  persuasion,  I 
will  descend  blushin'  from  my  canopy,  and 
say:  'Buy  a  palanquin,  ye  black  scut?' 
I  will  have  to  hire  four  men  to  carry  me 
first,  though ;  and  that's  impossible  till  next 
pay-day." 

Curiously  enough,  Learoyd,  who  had 
fought  for  the  prize,  and  in  the  winning 
secured  the  highest  pleasure  life  had  to 
offer  him,  was  altogether  disposed  to  un- 
dervalue it,  while  Ortheris  openly  said  it 
would  be  better  to  break  the  thing  up. 
Dearsley,he  argued,  might  be  a  many-sided 
man,  capable,  despite  his  magnificent  fight- 
ing qualities,  of  setting  in  motion  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  civil  law,  a  thing  much 
abhorred  by  the  soldier.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances their  fun  had  come  and  passed; 
the  next  pay-day  was  close  at  hand,  when 
there  would  be  beer  for  all.  Wherefore 
longer  conserve  the  painted  palanquin? 

"  A  first-class  rifle-shot  an'  a  good  little 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    171 

man  av  your  inches  you  are,"  said  Mul- 
vaney. "  But  you  niver  had  a  head  worth 
a  soft-boiled  egg.  Tis  me  has  to  lie  awake 
av  nights  schamin'  an'  plottin'  for  the  three 
av  us.  Orth'ris,  me  son,  'tis  no  matther 
av  a  few  gallons  av  beer  —  no,  nor  twenty 
gallons  —  but  tubs  an'  vats  an'  firkins  in 
that  sedan-chair." 

Meantime,  the  palanquin  stayed  in  my 
stall,  the  key  of  which  was  in  Mulvaney's 
hand. 

Pay-day  came,  and  with  it  beer.  It  was 
not  in  experience  to  hope  that  Mulvaney, 
dried  by  four  weeks'  drought,  would  avoid 
excess.  Next  morning  he  and  the  palan- 
quin had  disappeared.  He  had  taken  the 
precaution  of  getting  three  days'  leave  "  to 
see  a  friend  on  the  railway," and  the  colonel, 
well  knowing  that  the  seasonal  outburst 
was  near,  and  hoping  it  would  spend  its 
force  beyond  the  limits  of  his  jurisdiction, 
cheerfully  gave  him  all  he  demanded.  At 
this  point  his  history,  as  recorded  in  the 
mess-room,  stopped. 

Ortheris  carried  it  not  much  further. 
"  No,  'e  wasn't  drunk,"  said  the  little  man, 
loyally,  "  the  liquor  was  no  more  than 
feelin'  its  way  round  inside  of  'im ;  but  'e 
went  an'  filled  that  'ole  bloomin'  palanquin 
with  bottles  'fore  'e  went  off.  He's  gone 
an'  'ired  six  men  to  carry  'im,  an'  I  'ad 
to  'elp  'im  into  'is  nupshal  couch,   'cause 


172         Mine  Own  People 

'e  wouldn't  'ear  reason.  'E's  gone  off  in 
'is  shirt  an'  trousies,  swearin'  tremenjus  — 
gone  down  the  road  in  the  palanquin, 
wavin'  'is  legs  out  o'  windy." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "but  where?" 

"  Now  you  arx  me  a  question.  'E  said 
'e  was  going  to  sell  that  palanquin;  but 
from  observations  what  happened  when  I 
was  stuffin'  'im  through  the  door,  I  fancy 
'e's  gone  to  the  new  embankment  to  mock 
at  Dearsley.  Soon  as  Jock's  off  duty  I'm 
going  there  to  see  if  'e's  safe- — not  Mul- 
vaney,  but  t'other  man.  My  saints,  but  I 
pity  'im  as  'elps  Terence  out  o'  the  palan- 
quin when  'e's  once  fair  drunk!  " 

"  He'll  come  back,"  I  said. 

"  'Corse  'e  will.  On'y  question  is,  what'll 
*e  be  doin'  on  the  road.  Killing  Dearsley, 
like  as  not.  'E  shouldn't  'a  gone  without 
Jock  or  me." 

Re-enforced  by  Learoyd,  Ortheris 
sought  the  foreman  of  the  coolie-gang. 
Dearsley's  head  was  still  embellished  with 
towels.  Mulvaney,  drunk  or  sober,  would 
have  struck  no  man  in  that  condition, 
and  Dearsley  indignantly  denied  that  he 
would  have  taken  advantage  of  the  intoxi- 
cated brave. 

"  I  had  my  pick  o'  you  two,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Learoyd,  "  and  you  got  my 
palanquin  —  not  before  I'd  made  my  profit 
on  it.     Why'd  I  do  harm  when  everything's 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    173 

settled?  Your  man  did  come  here  — 
drunk  as  Davy's  cow  on  a  frosty  night  — 
came  a-purpose  to  mock  me  —  stuck  his 
'ead  out  of  the  door  an'  called  me  a  crucified 
hodman.  I  made  him  drunker,  an'  sent 
him  along.     But  I  never  touched  him." 

To  these  things,  Learoyd,  slow  to  per- 
ceive the  evidences  of  sincerity,  answered 
only:  "  If  owt  comes  to  Mulvaney  long  o' 
you,  I'll  gripple  you,  clouts  or  no  clouts 
on  your  ugly  head,  an'  I'll  draw  t'  throat 
twisty-ways,  man.     See  there  now." 

The  embassy  removed  itself,  and  Dears- 
ley,  the  battered,  laughed  alone  over  his 
supper  that  evening. 

Three  days  passed  ■ —  a  fourth  and  a  fifth. 
The  week  drew  to  a  close,  and  Mulvaney 
did  not  return.  He,  his  royal  palanquin, 
and  his  six  attendants,  had  vanished  into 
air.  A  very  large  and  very  tipsy  soldier, 
his  feet  sticking  out  of  the  litter  of  a  reign- 
ing princess,  is  not  a  thing  to  travel  along 
the  ways  without  comment.  Yet  no  man 
of  all  the  country  round  had  seen  any  such 
wonder.  He  was,  and  he  was  not;  and 
Learoyd  suggested  the  immediate  smash- 
ment  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  ghost.  Ortheris 
insisted  that  all  was  well. 

"  When  Mulvaney  goes  up  the  road," 
said  he,  "  'e's  like  to  go  a  very  long  ways 
up,  especially  when  'e's  so  blue  drunk  as  'e 
is  now.     But  what  gits  me  is  'is  not  bein; 


174         Mine  Own  People 

'eard  of  pullin'  wool  of  the  niggers  some- 
where about.  That  don't  look  good.  The 
drink  must  ha'  died  out  in  'im  by  this, 
unless  Vs  broke  a  bank,  an'  then  —  Why 
don't  'e  come  back?  'E  didn't  ought  to  ha' 
gone  off  without  us." 

Even  Ortheris'  heart  sunk  at  the  end  of 
the  seventh  day,  for  half  the  regiment  were 
out  scouring  the  country-sides,  and  Lea- 
royd  had  been  forced  to  fight  two  men  who 
hinted  openly  that  Mulvaney  had  deserted. 
To  do  him  justice,  the  colonel  laughed  at 
the  notion,  even  when  it  was  put  forward 
by  his  much-trusted  adjutant. 

"  Mulvaney  would  as  soon  think  of  de- 
serting as  you  would,"  said  he.  "  No;  he's 
either  fallen  into  a  mischief  among  the  vil- 
lagers—  and  yet  that  isn't  likely,  for  he'd 
blarney  himself  out  of  the  pit;  or  else  he 
is  engaged  on  urgent  private  affairs — some 
stupendous  devilment  that  we  shall  hear  of 
at  mess  after  it  has  been  the  round  of  the 
barrack-room.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  I 
shall  have  to  give  him  twenty-eight  days' 
confinement  at  least  for  being  absent  with- 
out leave,  just  when  I  most  want  him  to 
lick  the  new  batch  of  recruits  into  shape.  I 
never  knew  a  man  who  could  put  polish  on 
young  soldiers  as  quickly  as  Mulvaney  can. 
How  does  he  do  it?  " 

"  With  blarney  and  the  buckle-end  of  a 
belt,  sir,"  said  the  adjutant.     "  He  is  worth 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     175 

a  couple  of  non-commissioned  officers 
when  we  are  dealing  with  an  Irish  draft, 
and  the  London  lads  seem  to  adore  him. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  if  he  goes  to  the 
cells  the  other  two  are  neither  to  hold  nor 
to  bind  till  he  comes  out  again.  I  believe 
Ortheris  preaches  mutiny  on  those  occa- 
sions, and  I  know  that  the  mere  presence 
of  Learoyd  mourning  for  Mulvaney  kills 
all  the  cheerfulness  of  his  room.  The  ser- 
geants tell  me  that  he  allows  no  man  to 
laugh  when  he  feels  unhappy.  They  are  a 
queer  gang." 

"  For  all  that,  I  wish  we  had  a  few  more 
of  them.  I  like  a  well-conducted  regi- 
ment, but  these  pasty-faced,  shifty-eyed, 
mealy-mouthed  young  slouchers  from  the 
depot  worry  me  sometimes  with  their  offen- 
sive virtue.  They  don't  seem  to  have  back- 
bone enough  to  do  anything  but  play  cards 
and  prowl  round  the  married  quarters.  I 
believe  I'd  forgive  that  old  villain  on  the 
spot  if  he  turned  up  with  any  sort  of  ex- 
planation that  I  could  in  decency  accept." 

"  Not  likely  to  be  much  difficulty  about 
that,  sir,"  said  the  adjutant.  "  Mulvaney's 
explanations  are  one  degree  less  wonderful 
than  his  performances.  They  say  that 
when  he  was  in  the  Black  Tyrone,  before 
he  came  to  us,  he  was  discovered  on  the 
banks  A  the  Liffey  trying  to  sell  his 
colonel's  charger  to  a  Donegal  dealer  as  a 


176         Mine  Own  People 

perfect  lady's  hack.  Shakbolt  commanded 
the  Tyrone  then." 

"  Shakbolt  must  have  had  apoplexy  at 
the  thought  of  his  ramping  war-horses 
answering  to  that  description.  He  used  to 
buy  unbacked  devils  and  tame  them  by 
starvation.     What  did  Mulvaney  say?  " 

"  That  he  was  a  member  of  the  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals, 
anxious  to  '  sell  the  poor  baste  where  he 
would  get  something  to  fill  out  his  dim- 
ples.' Shakbolt  laughed,  but  I  fancy  that 
was  why  Mulvaney  exchanged  to  ours." 

"  I  wish  he  were  back,"  said  the  colonel ; 
"  for  I  like  him,  and  believe  he  likes  me." 

That  evening,  to  cheer  our  souls,  Lea- 
royd,  Ortheris  and  I  went  into  the  waste 
to  smoke  out  a  porcupine.  All  the  dogs 
attended,  but  even  their  clamor  —  and 
they  began  to  discuss  the  shortcomings  of 
porcupines  before  they  left  cantonments  — 
could  not  take  us  out  of  ourselves.  A 
large,  low  moon  turned  the  tops  of  the 
plume  grass  to  silver,  and  the  stunted 
camel-thorn  bushes  and  sour  tamarisks  into 
the  likeness  of  trooping  devils.  The  smell 
of  the  sun  had  not  left  the  earth,  and  little 
aimless  winds,  blowing  across  the  rose  gar- 
dens to  the  southward,  brought  the  scent 
of  dried  roses  and  water.  Our  fire  once 
started,  and  the  dogs  craftily  disposed  to 
wait  the  dash  of  the  porcupine,  we  climbed 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     177 

to  the  top  of  a  rain-scarred  hillock  of  earth, 
and  looked  across  the  scrub,  seamed  with 
cattle-paths,  white  with  the  long  grass,  and 
dotted  with  spots  of  level  pond-bottom, 
where  the  snipe  would  gather  in  winter. 

"  This,"  said  Ortheris,  with  a  sigh,  as  he 
took  in  the  unkempt  desolation  of  it  all, 
"  this  is  sanguinary.  This  is  unusual  san- 
guinary. Sort  o'  mad  country.  Like  a 
grate  when  the  fire's  put  out  by  the  sun." 
He  shaded  his  eyes  against  the  moonlight. 
"  An'  there's  a  loony  dancin'  in  the  middle 
of  it  all.  Quite  right.  I'd  dance,  too,  if 
I  wasn't  so  down-heart." 

There  pranced  a  portent  in  the  face  of 
the  moon  —  a  huge  and  ragged  spirit  of 
the  waste,  that  flapped  its  wings  from  afar. 
It  had  risen  out  of  the  earth;  it  was  coming 
toward  us,  and  its  outline  was  never  twice 
the  same.  The  toga,  table-cloth,  or  dress- 
ing-gown, whatever  the  creature  wore,  took 
a  hundred  shapes.  Once  it  stopped  on  a 
neighboring  mound  and  flung  all  its  legs 
and  arms  to  the  winds. 

"  My,  but  that  scarecrow  'as  got  'em 
bad!"  said  Ortheris.  "Seems  like  if  'e 
comes  anv  furder  we'll  'ave  to  argify  with 
'im." 

Learoyd  raised  himself  from  the  dirt  as 
a  bull  clears  his  flanks  of  the  wallow.  And 
as  a  bull  bellows,  so  he,  after  a  short  min- 
ute at  gaze,  gave  tongue  to  the  stars. 


178         Mine  Own  People 

"Mulvaney!  Mulvaney!     A  hoo!" 

Then  we  yelled  all  together,  and  the  fig- 
ure dipped  into  the  hollow  till,  with  a  crash 
of  rending  grass,  the  lost  one  strode  up  to 
the  light  of  the  fire,  and  disappeared  to 
the  waist  in  a  wave  of  joyous  dogs.  Then 
Learoyd  and  Ortheris  gave  greeting  bass 
and  falsetto. 

"  You  damned  fool!  "  said  they,  and  sev- 
erally punched  him  with  their  fists. 

"  Go  easy!  "  he  answered,  wrapping  a 
huge  arm  around  each.  "  I  would  have 
you  to  know  that  I  am  a  god,  to  be  treated 
as  such  —  though,  by  my  faith,  I  fancy  I've 
got  to  go  to  the  guard-room  just  like  a 
privit  soldier." 

The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  destroyed 
the  suspicions  raised  by  the  former.  Any 
one  would  have  been  justified  in  regarding 
Mulvaney  as  mad.  He  was  hatless  and 
shoeless,  and  his  shirt  and  trousers  were 
dropping  off  him.  But  he  wore  one  won- 
drous garment  —  a  gigantic  cloak  that  fell 
from  collar-bone  to  heels  —  of  pale  pink 
silk,  wrought  all  over,  in  cunningest  needle- 
work of  hands  long  since  dead,  with  the 
loves  of  the  Hindoo  gods.  The  monstrous 
figures  leaped  in  and  out  of  the  light  of  the 
fire  as  he  settled  the  folds  round  him. 

Ortheris  handled  the  stuff  respectfully 
for  a  moment  while  I  was  trying  to  remem- 
ber where  I  had  seen  it  before. 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     179 

Then  he  screamed:  "What  Jave  you 
done  with  the  palanquin?  You're  wearin' 
the  limn'." 

"  I  am,"  said  the  Irishman,  "  an'  by  the 
same  token  the  'broidery  is  scrapin'  me 
hide  off.  I've  lived  in  this  sumpshus  coun- 
terpane for  four  days.  Me  son,  I  begin  to 
ondherstand  why  the  naygur  is  no  use. 
Widout  me  boots,  an'  me  trousers  like  an 
open-work  stocking  on  a  gyurl's  leg  at  a 
dance,  I  began  to  feel  like  a  naygur  —  all 
timorous.     Give  me  a  pipe  an'  I'll  tell  on." 

He  lighted  a  pipe,  resumed  his  grip  of 
his  two  friends,  and  rocked  to  and  fro  in  a 
gale  of  laughter. 

"  Mulvaney,"  said  Ortheris,  sternly, 
"  'tain't  no  time  for  laughin'.  You've 
given  Jock  an'  me  more  trouble  than  you're 
worth.  You  'ave  been  absent  without 
leave,  and  you'll  go  into  the  cells  for  that; 
an'  you  'ave  come  back  disgustingly 
dressed,  an'  most  improper,  in  the  linin'  o' 
that  bloomin'  palanquin.  Instid  of  which 
you  laugh.  An'  wc  thought  you  was  dead 
all  the  time." 

"  Bhoys,"  said  the  culprit,  still  shaking 
gently,  "  whin  I've  done  my  tale  you  may 
cry  if  you  like,  an'  little  Orth'ris  here  can 
thrample  my  insides  out.  Ha'  done  an' 
listen.  My  performinces  have  been  stupen- 
jus;  my  luck  has  been  the  blessed  luck  of 
the   British   army  —  an'   there's   no   better 


180         Mine  Own  People 

than  that.  I  went  out  drunk  an'  drinking 
in  the  palanquin,  and  I  have  come  back  a 
pink  god.  Did  any  of  you  go  to  Dearsley 
afther  my  time  was  up?  He  was  at  the 
bottom  of  ut  all." 

"  Ah  said  so,"  murmured  Learoyd. 
"  To-morrow  ah'll  smash  t'  face  in  upon  his 
head." 

"  Ye  will  not.  Dearsley's  a  jool  av  a 
man.  Afther  Orth'ris  had  put  me  into  the 
palanquin  an'  the  six  bearer-men  were 
gruntin'  down  the  road,  I  tuk  thought  to 
mock  Dearsley  for  that  fight.  So  I  tould 
thim :  '  Go  to  the  embankment,'  and  there, 
bein'  most  amazin'  full,  I  shtuck  my  head 
out  av  the  concern  an'  passed  compliments 
wid  Dearsley.  I  must  ha'  miscalled  him 
outrageous,  for  whin  I  am  that  way  the 
power  of  the  tongue  comes  on  me.  I  can 
bare  remimber  tellin'  him  that  his  mouth 
opened  endways  like  the  mouth  of  a  skate, 
which  was  thrue  afther  Learoyd  had  han- 
dled ut;  an'  I  clear  remimber  his  taking  no 
manner  nor  matter  of  offense,  but  givin' 
me  a  big  dhrink  of  beer.  'Twas  the  beer 
that  did  the  thrick,  for  I  crawled  back  into 
the  palanquin,  steppin'  on  me  right  ear  wid 
me  left  foot,  an'  thin  I  slept  like  the  dead. 
Wanst  I  half  roused,  an'  begad  the  noise 
in  my  head  was  tremenjus  —  roarin'  an' 
poundin'  an'  rattlin'  such  as  was  quite  new 
to    me.     '  Mother    av    mercy,'    thinks    I, 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    1 8 1 

'  phwat  a  concertina  I  will  have  on  my 
shoulders  whin  I  wake !  '  An'  wid  that  I 
curls  myself  up  to  sleep  before  ut  should 
get  hould  on  me.  Bhoys,  that  noise  was 
not  dhrink,  'twas  the  rattle  av  a  train !  " 

There  followed  an  impressive  pause. 

"  Yes,  he  had  put  me  on  a  thrain  —  put 
me,  palanquin  an'  all,  an'  six  black  assas- 
sins av  his  own  coolies  that  was  in  his 
nefarious  confidence,  on  the  flat  av  a  bal- 
last-truck, and  we  were  rowlin'  and  bowlin' 
along  to  Benares.  Glory  be  that  I  did  not 
wake  up  then  an'  introjuce  myself  to  the 
coolies.  As  I  was  savin',  I  slept  for  the 
better  part  av  a  day  an'  a  night.  But  re- 
mimber  you,  that  that  man  Dearsley  had 
packed  me  off  on  one  av  his  material 
thrains  to  Benares,  all  for  to  make  me  over- 
stay my  leave  an'  get  me  into  the  cells." 

The  explanation  was  an  eminently  ra- 
tional one.  Benares  was  at  least  ten  hours 
by  rail  from  the  cantonments,  and  nothing 
in  the  world  could  have  saved  Mulvaney 
from  arrest  as  a  deserter  had  he  appeared 
there  in  the  apparel  of  his  orgies.  Dears- 
ley  had  not  forgotten  to  take  revenge. 
Learoyd,  drawing  back  a  little,  began  to 
place  soft  blows  over  selected  portions  of 
Mulvaney's  body.  His  thoughts  were 
away  on  the  embankment,  and  they  medi- 
tated evil  for  Dearsley.  Mulvaney  con- 
tinued:     "  Whin    I    was    full    awake,    the 


1 82         Mine  Own  People 

palanquin  was  set  down  in  a  street,  I  sus- 
picioned,  for  I  could  hear  people  passin' 
and  talkin'.  But  I  knew  well  I  was  far 
from  home.  There  is  a  queer  smell  upon 
our  cantonments  —  smell  av  dried  earth 
and  brick-kilns  wid  whiffs  av  a  cavalry 
stable-litter.  This  place  smelt  marigold 
flowers  an'  bad  water,  an'  wanst  somethin' 
alive,  came  an'  blew  heavy  with  his  muzzle 
at  the  chink  of  the  shutter.  '  It's  in  a  vil- 
lage I  am,'  thinks  I  to  myself,  '  an'  the 
parochial  buffalo  is  investigatin'  the  palan- 
quin.' But  anyways  I  had  no  desire  to 
move.  Only  lie  still  whin  you're  in  for- 
eign parts,  an'  the  standin'  luck  av  the 
British  army  will  carry  ye  through.  That 
is  an  epigram.     I  made  ut. 

"  Thin  a  lot  av  whisperin'  devils  sur- 
rounded the  palanquin.  '  Take  ut  up,'  says 
wan  man.  '  But  who'll  pay  us?'  says  an- 
other. '  The  Maharanee's  minister,  av 
course,'  sez  the  man.  '  Oho! '  sez  I  to  my- 
self; '  I'm  a  quane  in  me  own  right,  wid  a 
minister  to  pay  me  expenses.  I'll  be  an 
emperor  if  I  lie  still  long  enough.  But 
this  is  no  village  I've  struck.'  I  lay  quiet, 
but  I  gummed  me  right  eye  to  a  crack  av 
the  shutters,  an'  I  saw  that  the  whole  street 
was  crammed  wid  palanquins  an'  horses  an' 
a  sprinklin'  av  naked  priests,  all  yellow 
powder  an'  tigers'  tails.  But  I  may  tell 
you,   Orth'ris,   an'   you,   Learoyd,   that  av 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     183 

all  the  palanquins  ours  was  the  most  impe- 
rial an'  magnificent.  Now,  a  palanquin 
means  a  native  lady  all  the  world  over,  ex- 
cept whin  a  soldier  av  the  quane  happens 
to  be  takin'  a  ride.  '  Women  an'  priest !  ' 
sez  I.  '  Your  father's  son  is  in  the  right 
pew  this  time,  Terence.  There  will  be  pro- 
ceeding.' Six  black  devils  in  pink  muslin 
tuk  up  the  palanquin,  an'  oh!  but  the 
rowliiv  an'  the  rockin'  made  me  sick.  Thin 
we  got*  fair  jammed  among  the  palanquins 
—  not  more  than  fifty  av  them  —  an'  we 
grated  an'  bumped  like  Queenstown  pota- 
to-sacks in  a  runnin'  tide.  I  cud  hear  the 
women  giglin'  and  squirmin'  in  their  palan- 
quins, but  mine  was  the  royal  equipage. 
They  made  way  for  tit,  an',  begad,  the  pink 
muslin  men  o'  mine  were  howlin',  '  Room 
for  the  Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun.' 
Do  you  know  av  the  lady,  sorr?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  She  is  a  very  estima- 
ble old  queen  of  the  Central  India  States, 
and  they  say  she  is  fat.  How  on  earth 
could  she  go  to  Benares  without  all  the  city 
knowing  her  palanquin?" 

"  Twas  the  eternal  foolishness  av  the 
naygur  men.  They  saw  the  palanquin 
lying  loneful  an'  forlornsome,  an'  the 
beauty  of  ut,  after  Dearsley's  men  had 
dhropped  ut  an'  gone  away,  an'  they  gave  ut 
the  best  name  that  occurred  to  thim.  Quite 
right  too.    For  aught  we  know,  the  old  lady 


184         Mine  Own  People 

was  travelin'  incog. —  like  me.  I'm  glad  to 
hear  she's  fat.  I  was  no  light-weight  my- 
self, an'  my  men  were  mortial  anxious  to 
dhrop  me  under  a  great  big  archway  pro- 
miscuously ornamented  wid  the  most  im- 
proper carvin's  an'  cuttin's  I  iver  saw. 
Begad!  they  made  me  blush  —  like  a 
maharanee." 

"  The  temple  of  the  Prithi-Devi,"  I  mur- 
mured, remembering  the  monstrous  hor- 
rors of  that  sculptured  archway  at  Benares. 

"  Pretty  Devilskins,  savin'  your  presence, 
sorr.  There  was  nothin'  pretty  about  ut, 
except  me!  'Twas  all  half  dhark,  an'  whin 
the  coolies  left  they  shut  a  big  black  gate 
behind  av  us,  an'  half  a  company  av  fat 
yellow  priests  began  pully-haulin'  the 
palanquins  into  dharker  place  yet  —  a  big 
stone  hall  full  av  pillars  an'  gods  an'  in- 
cense an'  all  manner  av  similar  thruck. 
The  gate  disconcerted  me,  for  I  perceived 
I  wud  have  to  go  forward  to  get  out,  my 
retreat  bein'  cut  off.  By  the  same  token, 
a  good  priest  makes  a  bad  palanquin- 
coolie.  Begad!  they  nearly  turned  me  in- 
side out  dragging  the  palanquin  to  the 
temple.  Now  the  disposishin  av  the  forces 
inside  was  this  way.  The  Maharanee  av 
Gokral-Seetarun  —  that  was  me  —  lay  by 
the  favor  of  Providence  on  the  far  left  flank 
behind  the  dhark  av  a  pillar  carved  with 
elephants'   heads.     The   remainder  av  the 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     185 

palanquins  was  in  a  big  half  circle  facing 
into  the  biggest,  fattest,  and  most  amazin' 
she-god  that  iver  I  dreamed  av.  Her  head 
ran  up  into  the  black  above  us,  an'  her  feet 
stuck  out  in  the  light  av  a  little  fire  av 
melted  butter  that  a  priest  was  feedin'  out 
av  a  butter-dish.  Thin  a  man  began  to 
sing  an'  play  on  somethin',  back  in  the 
dhark,  an'  'twas  a  queer  song.  Ut  made 
my  hair  lift  on  the  back  av  my  neck.  Thin 
the  doors  av  all  the  palanquins  slid  back, 
an*  the  women  bundled  out.  I  saw  what 
I'll  never  see  again.  'Twas  more  glorious 
than  transformations  at  a  pantomime,  for 
they  was  in  pink,  an'  blue,  an'  silver,  an' 
red,  an'  grass-green,  wid  diamonds,  an* 
imeralds,  an'  great  red  rubies.  I  never  saw 
the  like,  an'  I  never  will  again." 

"  Seeing  that  in  all  probability  you  were 
watching  the  wives  and  daughters  of  most 
of  the  kings  of  India,  the  chances  are  that 
you  won't,"  I  said,  for  it  was  dawning  upon 
me  that  Mulvaney  had  stumbled  upon  a  big 
queen's  praying  at  Benares. 

"  I  niver  will,"  he  said,  mournfully. 
''That  sight  doesn't  come  twict  to  any 
man.  It  made  me  ashamed  to  watch.  A 
fat  priest  knocked  at  my  door.  I  didn't 
think  he'd  have  the  insolence  to  disturb  the 
Maharanee  av  Gokral-Seetarun,  so  I  lay 
still.  '  The  old  cow's  asleep/  sez  he  to  an- 
other.    '  Let  her  be/  sez  that.     '  'Twill  be 


1 86         Mine  Own  People 

long  before  she  has  a  calf!'  I  might  ha* 
known  before  he  spoke  that  all  a  woman 
prays  for  in  Injia  —  an'  for  the  matter  o' 
that  in  England  too  —  is  childher.  That 
made  me  more  sorry  I'd  come,  me  bein', 
as  you  well  know,  a  childless  man. 

"  They  prayed,  an'  the  butter-fires  blazed 
up  an'  the  incense  turned  everything  blue, 
an'  between  that  an'  the  fires  the  women 
looked  as  tho'  they  were  all  ablaze  an' 
twinklin'.  They  took  hold  of  the  she-god's 
knees,  they  cried  out,  an'  they  threw  them- 
selves about,  an'  that  world-without-end- 
amen  music  was  dhrivin'  thim  mad. 
Mother  av  Hiven!  how  they  cried,  an'  the 
ould  she-god  grinnin'  above  them  all  so 
scornful!  The  dhrink  was  dyin'  out  in  me 
fast,  an'  I  was  thinkin'  harder  than 
the  thoughts  wud  go  through  my  head — > 
thinkin'  how  to  get  out,  an'  all  man- 
ner of  nonsense  as  well.  The  women 
were  rockin'  in  rows,  their  di'mond 
belts  clickin',  an'  the  tears  runnin'  out  be- 
tune  their  hands,  an'  the  lights  were  goin, 
lower  and  dharker.  Thin  there  was  a  blaze 
like  lightnin'  from  the  roof,  an'  that  showed 
me  the  inside  av  the  palanquin,  an'  at  the 
end  where  my  foot  was  stood  the  livin'  spit 
an'  image  o'  myself  worked  on  the  linin'. 
This  man  here,  it  was." 

He  hunted  in  the  folds  of  his  pink  cloak, 
ran  a  hand  under  one,  and  thrust  into  the 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     187 

fire-light  a  foot-long  embroidered  present- 
ment of  the  great  god  Krishna  playing  on 
a  flute.  The  heavy  jowl,  the  staring  eyes, 
and  the  blue-black  mustache  of  the  god 
made  up  a  far-off  resemblance  to  Mul- 
vaney. 

'  The  blaze  was  gone  in  a  wink,  but  the 
whole  schame  came  to  me  thin.  I  believe 
I  was  mad,  too.  I  slid  the  off-shutter  open 
an'  rowled  out  into  the  dhark  behind  the 
elephant-head  pillar,  tucked  up  my  trousies 
to  my  knee,  slipped  off  my  boots,  and  took 
a  general  hould  av  all  the  pink  limn'  av  the 
palanquin.  Glory  be,  ut  ripped  out  like  a 
woman's  driss  when  you  thread  on  ut  at  a 
sargent's  ball,  an'  a  bottle  came  with  ut.  I 
tuk  the  bottle,  an'  the  next  minut  I  was  out 
av  the  dhark  av  the  pillar,  the  pink  linin' 
wrapped  round  me  most  graceful,  the  music 
thunclerin'  like  kettle-drums,  an'  a  cowld 
draft  blowin'  round  my  bare  legs.  By  this 
hand  that  did  ut,  I  was  Krishna  tootlin'  on 
the  flute  —  the  §od  that  the  rig'mental 
chaplain  talks  about.  A  sweet  sight  I  must 
ha'  looked.  I  knew  my  eyes  were  big  and 
my  face  was  wax-white,  an'  at  the  worst  I 
must  ha'  looked  like  a  ghost.  But  they 
took  me  for  the  livin'  god.  The  music 
stopped,  and  the  women  were  dead  dumb, 
an'  I  crooked  my  legs  like  a  shepherd  on 
a  china  basin,  an'  I  did  the  ghost-waggle 
with  my  feet  as  I  had  done  at  the  rig'mental 


i  88         Mine  Own  People 

theater  many  times,  an'  slid  across  the  tem- 
ple in  front  av  the  she-god,  tootlin'  on  the 
beer-bottle." 

"  Wot  did  you  toot? "  demanded 
Ortheris. 

"Me?  Oh!"  Mulvaney  sprung  up, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  sliding 
gravely  in  front  of  us,  a  dilapidated  deity 
in  the  half  light.     "  I  sung: 

"  '  Only  say 

You'll  be  Mrs.  Brallaghan, 
Don't  say  nay, 
Charmin'  Juley  Callaghan.' 

I  didn't  know  my  own  voice  when  I  sung. 
An'  oh!  'twas  pitiful  to  see  the  women. 
The  darlin's  were  down  on  their  faces. 
Whin  I  passed  the  last  wan  I  could  see 
her  poor  little  ringers  workin'  one  in  an- 
other as  if  she  wanted  to  touch  my  feet. 
So  I  threw  the  tail  of  this  pink  overcoat 
over  her  head  for  the  greater  honor,  an' 
slid  into  the  dhark  on  .the  other  side  of 
the  temple,  and  fetched  up  in  the  arms  av 
a  big  fat  priest.  All  I  wanted  was  to  get 
away  clear.  So  I  tuk  him  by  his  greasy 
throat  an'  shut  the  speech  out  av  him. 
'Out!'  sez  I.  'Which  way,  ye  fat 
heathen?'  'Oh!'  sez  he.  'Man/  sez  I. 
'  White  man,  soldier  man,  common  soldier 
man.  Where  is  the  back  door? '  '  This 
way/  sez  my  fat  friend,  duckin'  behind  a 
big   bull-god    an'    divin'    into    a    passage. 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney    189 

Thin  I  remimbered  that  I  must  ha'  made 
the  miraculous  reputation  of  that  temple  for 
the  next  fifty  years.  '  Not  so  fast/  I  sez, 
an'  I  held  out  both  my  hands  wid  a  wink. 
That  ould  thief  smiled  like  a  father.  I  took 
him  by  the  back  av  the  neck  in  case  he 
should  be  wishful  to  put  a  knife  into  me  un- 
beknownst, an'  I  ran  him  up  an'  down  the 
passage  twice  to  collect  his  sensibilities. 
'  Be  quiet,'  sez  he,  in  English.  '  Now  you 
talk  sense,'  I  sez.  '  Fhwat'll  you  give  me 
for  the  use  of  that  most  iligant  palanquin 
I  have  no  time  to  take  away?'  'Don't 
tell,'  sez  he.  '  Is  ut  like? '  sez  I.  '  But  ye 
might  give  me  my  railway  fare.  I'm  far 
from  my  home,  an'  I've  done  you  a  ser- 
vice.' Bhoys,  'tis  a  good  thing  to  be  a 
priest.  The  ould  man  niver  throubled 
himself  to  draw  from  a  bank.  As  I  will 
prove  to  you  subsequint,  he  philandered  all 
round  the  slack  av  his  clothes  and  began 
dribblin'  ten-rupee  notes,  old  gold  mohurs, 
and  rupees  into  my  hand  till  I  could  hould 
no  more." 

"You  lie!"  said  Ortheris.  "You're 
mad  or  sunstrook.  A  native  don't  give 
coin  unless  you  cut  it  out  av  'im.  Tain't 
nature." 

"  Then  my  lie  an'  my  sunstroke  is  con- 
cealed under  that  lump  av  sod  yonder," 
retorted  Mulvaney,  unruffled,  nodding 
across  the  scrub.    "  An'  there's  a  dale  more 


190         Mine  Own  People 

in  nature  than  your  squidgy  little  legs  have 
iver  taken  you  to,  Orth'ris,  me  son.  Four 
hundred  and  thirty-four  rupees  by  my 
reckoning  an  a  big  fat  gold  necklace  that 
I  took  from  him  as  a  remimbrancer." 

"  An'  'e  give  it  to  you  for  love?"  said 
Ortheris. 

"  We  were  alone  in  that  passage.  Maybe 
I  was  a  trifle  too  pressin',  but  considher 
fwhat  I  had  done  for  the  good  av  the  tem- 
ple and  the  iverlastin'  joy  av  those  women. 
Twas  cheap  at  the  price.  I  would  ha' 
taken  more  if  I  could  ha'  found  it.  I 
turned  the  ould  man  upside  down  at  the 
last,  but  he  was  milked  dhry.  Thin  he 
opened  a  door  in  another  passage,  an'  I 
found  myself  up  to  my  knees  in  Benares 
river-water,  an'  bad  smellin'  ut  is.  More 
by  token  I  had  come  out  on  the  river  line 
close  to  the  burnin'-ghat  and  contagious 
to  a  cracklin'  corpse.  This  was  in  the 
heart  av  the  night,  for  I  had  been  four 
hours  in  the  temple.  There  was  a  crowd 
av  boats  tied  up,  so  I  tuk  wan  an'  wint 
across  the  river.  Thin  I  came  home,  lyin' 
up  by  day." 

"How  on  earth  did  you  manage?"  I 
said. 

"  How  did  Sir  Frederick  Roberts  get 
from  Cabul  to  Candahar?  He  marched, 
an'  he  niver  told  how  near  he  was  to 
breakin'  down.     That's  why  he  is  phwat 


Incarnation  of  Mulvaney     1 9 1 

lie  is.  An'  now " —  Mulvaney  yawned 
portentously  — "  now  I  will  go  and  give 
myself  up  for  absince  widout  leave.  It's 
eight-an'-twenty  days  an'  the  rough  end  of 
the  colonel's  tongue  in  orderly-room,  any 
way  you  look  at  ut.  But  'tis  cheap  at  the 
price." 

"  Mulvaney,"  said  I,  softly,  "  if  there  hap- 
pens to  be  any  sort  of  excuse  that  the 
colonel  can  in  any  way  accept,  I  have  a 
notion  that  you'll  get  nothing  more  than 
the  dressing  down.  The  new  recruits  are 
in,  and  — " 

"  Not  a  word  more,  sorr.  Is  ut  excuses 
the  ould  man  wants?  Tis  not  my  way, 
but  he  shall  have  thim."  And  he  flapped 
his  way  to  cantonments,  singing  lustily: 

"  So  they  sent  a  corp'ril's  file, 
And  they  put  me  in  the  guyard  room, 
For  conduce  unbecomin'  of  a  soldier." 

Therewith  he  surrendered  himself  to  the 
joyful  and  almost  weeping  guard,  and  was 
made  much  of  by  his  fellows.  But  to  the 
colonel  he  said  that  he  had  been  smitten 
with  sunstroke  and  had  lain  insensible  on 
a  villager's  cot  for  untold  hours,  and  be- 
tween laughter  and  good-will  the  affair  was 
smoothed  over,  so  that  he  could  next  day 
teach  the  new  recruits  how  to  "  fear  God, 
honor  the  queen,  shoot  straight,  and  keep 
clean." 


THE  MAN  WHO  WAS 


Let  it  be  clearly  understood  that  the 
Russian  is  a  delightful  person  till  he  tucks 
his  shirt  in.  As  an  Oriental  he  is  charm- 
ing. It  is  only  when  he  insists  upon  being 
treated  as  the  most  easterly  of  Western  peo- 
ples, instead  of  the  most  westerly  of  East- 
erns, that  he  becomes  a  racial  anomaly  ex- 
tremely difficult  to  handle.  The  host  never 
knows  which  side  of  his  nature  is  going  to 
turn  up  next. 

Dirkovitch  was  a  Russian  —  a  Russian 
of  the  Russians,  as  he  said  —  who  appeared 
to  get  his  bread  by  serving  the  czar  as  an 
officer  in  a  Cossack  regiment,  and  corre- 
sponding for  a  Russian  newspaper  with  a 
name  that  was  never  twice  the  same.  He 
was  a  handsome  young  Oriental,  with  a 
taste  for  wandering  through  unexplored 
portions  of  the  earth,  and  he  arrived  in  In- 
dia from  nowhere  in  particular.  At  least 
no  living  man  could  ascertain  whether  it 
was  by  way  of  Balkh,  Budukhshan,  Chitral, 
Beloochistan,  Nepaul,  or  anywhere  else. 
192 


The  Man  Who  Was       i 


93 


The  Indian  government,  being  in  an  un- 
usually affable  mood,  gave  orders  that  he 
was  to  be  civilly  treated,  and  shown  every- 
thing that  was  to  be  seen;  so  he  drifted, 
talking  bad  English  and  worse  French, 
from  one  city  to  another  till  he  foregath- 
ered with  her  Majesty's  White  Hussars  in 
the  city  of  Peshawur,  which  stands  at  the 
mouth  of  that  narrow  sword-cut  in  the  hills 
that  men  call  the  Khyber  Pass.  He  was 
undoubtedly  an  officer,  and  he  was  deco- 
rated, after  the  manner  of  the  Russians, 
with  little  enameled  crosses,  and  he  could 
talk,  and  (though  this  has  nothing  to  do 
with  his  merits)  he  had  been  given  up  as  a 
hopeless  task  or  case  by  the  Black  Tyrones, 
who,  individually  and  collectively,  with  hot 
whisky  and  honey,  mulled  brandy  and 
mixed  drinks  of  all  kinds,  had  striven  in 
all  hospitality  to  make  him  drunk.  And 
when  the  Black  Tyrones,  who  are  exclu- 
sively Irish,  fail  to  disturb  the  peace  of 
head  of  a  foreigner,  that  foreigner  is  cer- 
tain to  be  a  superior  man.  This  was  the 
argument  of  the  Black  Tyrones,  but  they 
were  ever  an  unruly  and  self-opinionated 
regiment,  and  they  allowed  junior  subal- 
terns of  four  years'  service  to  choose  their 
wines.  The  spirits  were  always  purchased 
by  the  colonel  and  a  committee  of  majors. 
And  a  regiment  that  would  so  behave  may 
be  respected  but  can  not  be  loved. 


194         Mine  Own  People 

The  White  Hussars  were  as  conscien- 
tious in  choosing  their  wine  as  in  charg- 
ing the  enemy.  There  was  a  brandy  that 
had  been  purchased  by  a  cultured  colonel 
a  few  years  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  It 
has  been  maturing  ever  since,  and  it  was 
a  marvelous  brandy  at  the  purchasing. 
The  memory  of  that  liquor  would  cause 
men  to  weep  as  they  lay  dying  in  the  teak 
forests  of  Upper  Burmah  or  the  slime  of 
the  Irrawaddy.  And  there  was  a  port 
which  was  notable;  and  there  was  a  cham- 
pagne of  an  obscure  brand,  which  always 
came  to  mess  without  any  labels,  because 
the  White  Hussars  wished  none  to  know 
where  the  source  of  supply  might  be  found. 
The  officer  on  whose  head  the  champagne- 
choosing  lay  was  forbidden  the  use  of  to- 
bacco for  six  weeks  previous  to  sampling. 

This  particularity  of  detail  is  necessary 
to  emphasize  the  fact  that  that  champagne, 
that  port,  and,  above  all,  that  brandy  — 
the  green  and  yellow  and  white  liqueurs  did 
not  count  —  was  placed  at  the  absolute  dis- 
position of  Dirkovitch,  and  he  enjoyed 
himself  hugely  —  even  more  than  among 
the  Black  Tyrones. 

But  he  remained  distressingly  European 
through  it  all.  The  White  Hussars  were 
— "  My  dear  true  friends,"  "  Fellow-soldiers 
glorious,"  and  "  Brothers  inseparable."  He 
would  unburden  himself  bv  the  hour  on 


The  Man  Who  Was       195 

the  glorious  future  that  awaited  the  com- 
bined arms  of  England  and  Russia  when 
their  hearts  and  their  territories  should  run 
side  by  side,  and  the  great  mission  of  civil- 
izing Asia  should  begin.  That  was  unsat- 
isfactory, because  Asia  is  not  going  to  be 
civilized,  after  the  methods  of  the  West. 
There  is  too  much  Asia,  and  she  is  too  old. 
You  can  not  reform  a  lady  of  many  lovers, 
and  Asia  has  been  insatiable  in  her  flirta- 
tions aforetime.  She  will  never  attend 
Sunday-school,  or  learn  to  vote  save  with 
swords  for  tickets. 

Dirkovitch  knew  this  as  well  as  any  one 
else,  but  it  suited  him  to  talk  special-cor- 
respondently  and  to  make  himself  as  genial 
as  he  could.  Now  and  then  he  volunteered 
a  little,  a  very  little,  information  about  his 
own  Sotnia  of  Cossacks,  left  apparently  to 
look  after  themselves  somewhere  at  the 
back  of  beyond.  He  had  done  rough  work 
in  Central  Asia,  and  had  seen  rather  more 
help-yourself  fighting  than  most  men  of  his 
years.  But  he  was  careful  never  to  betray 
his  superiority,  and  more  than  careful  to 
praise  on  all  occasions  the  appearance,  drill, 
uniform,  and  organization  of  her  Majesty's 
White  Hussars.  And,  indeed,  they  were 
a  regiment  to  be  admired.  When  Mrs. 
Durgan,  widow  of  the  late  Sir  John  Dur- 
gan,  arrived  in  their  station,  and  after  a 
short  time  had  been  proposed  to  by  every 


196         Mine  Own  People 

single  man  at  mess,  she  put  the  public 
sentiment  very  neatly  when  she  explained 
that  they  were  all  so  nice  that  unless  she 
could  marry  them  all,  including  the  colonel 
and  some  majors  who  were  already  mar- 
ried, she  was  not  going  to  content  herself 
with  one  of  them.  Wherefore  she  wedded 
a  little  man  in  a  rifle  regiment  —  being  by 
nature  contradictious  —  and  the  White 
Hussars  were  going  to  wear  crape  on  their 
arms,  but  compromised  by  attending  the 
wedding  in  full  force,  and  lining  the  aisle 
with  unutterable  reproach.  She  had  jilted 
them  all  —  from  Basset-Holmer,  the  senior 
captain,  to  Little  Mildred,  the  last  subal- 
tern, and  he  could  have  given  her  four 
thousand  a  year  and  a  title.  He  was  a  vis- 
count, and  on  his  arrival  the  mess  had  said 
he  had  better  go  into  the  Guards,  because 
they  were  all  sons  of  large  grocers  and 
small  clothiers  in  the  Hussars,  but  Mildred 
begged  very  hard  to  be  allowed  to  stay,  and 
behaved  so  prettily  that  he  was  forgiven, 
and  became  a  man,  which  is  much  more 
important  than  being  any  sort  of  viscount. 
The  only  persons  who  did  not  share  the 
general  regard  for  the  White  Hussars  were 
a  few  thousand  gentlemen  of  Jewish  extrac- 
tion who  lived  across  the  border,  and  an- 
swered to  the  name  of  Pathan.  They  had 
only  met  the  regiment  officially,  and  for 
something  less  than  twenty  minutes,  but 


The  Man  Who  Was       197 

the  interview,  which  was  complicated  with 
many  casualties,  had  tilled  them  with  preju- 
dice.    They  even  called  the  White  Hussars 
"  children  of  the  devil,"  and  sons  of  persons 
whom  it  would  be  perfectly  impossible  to 
meet  in  decent  society.     Yet  they  were  not 
above    making    their    aversion    fill    their 
money-belts.     The  regiment  possessed  car- 
bines,   beautiful    Martini-Henry    carbines, 
that  would  cob  a  bullet  into  an  enemy's 
camp  at  one  thousand  yards,  and  were  even 
handier  than  the  long  rifle.    Therefore  they 
were   coveted   all   along   the   border,   and, 
since    demand    inevitably    breeds    supply, 
they  were  supplied  at  the  risk  of  life  and 
limb  for  exactly  their  weight  in  coined  sil- 
ver —  seven  and  one  half  pounds  of  rupees, 
or  sixteen  pounds  and  a  few  shillings  each, 
reckoning  the   rupee  at  par.     They   were 
stolen  at  night  by  snaky-haired  thieves  that 
crawled  on  their  stomachs  under  the  nose 
of    the    sentries;    they    disappeared    mys- 
teriously from  arm-racks;  and  in  the  hot 
weather,  when  all  the  doors  and  windows 
were  open,  they  vanished  like  puffs  of  their 
own    smoke.     The   border   people    desired 
them  first  for  their  own  family  vendettas, 
and   then   for   contingencies.     But   in   the 
long  cold  nights  of  the  Northern  Indian 
winter  they  were  stolen  most  extensively. 
The  traffic  of  murder  was  liveliest  among 
the  hills  at  that  season,  and  prices  ruled 


198         Mine  Own  People 

high.  The  regimental  guards  were  first 
doubled  and  then  trebled.  A  trooper  does 
not  much  care  if  he  loses  a  weapon  —  gov- 
ernment must  make  it  good  —  but  he 
deeply  resents  the  loss  of  his  sleep.  The 
regiment  grew  very  angry,  and  one  night- 
thief  who  managed  to  limp  away  bears  the 
visible  marks  of  their  anger  upon  him  to 
this  hour.  That  incident  stopped  the  bur- 
glaries for  a  time,  and  the  guards  were  re- 
duced accordingly,  and  the  regiment  de- 
voted itself  to  polo  with  unexpected  results, 
for  it  beat  by  two  goals  to  one  that  very 
terrible  polo  corps,  the  Lushkar  Light 
Horse,  though  the  latter  had  four  ponies 
apiece  for  a  short  hour's  fight,  as  well  as 
a  native  officer  who  played  like  a  lambent 
flame  across  the  ground. 

Then  they  gave  a  dinner  to  celebrate  tne 
event.  The  Lushkar  'team  came,  and 
Dirkovitch  came,  in  the  fullest  full  uniform 
of  a  Cossack  officer,  which  is  as  full  as  a 
dressing-gown,  and  was  introduced  to  the 
Lushkars,  and  opened  his  eyes  as  he  re- 
garded them.  They  were  lighter  men 
than  the  Hussars,  and  they  carried  them- 
selves with  the  swing  that  is  the  peculiar 
right  of  the  Punjab  frontier  force  and  all 
irregular  horse.  Like  everything  else  in 
the  service,  it  has  to  be  learned;  but,  unlike 
many  things,  it  is  never  forgotten,  and  re- 
mains on  the  body  till  death. 


The  Man  Who  Was       1 99 

The  great  beam-roofed  mess-room  of  the 
White  Hussars  was  a  sight  to  be  remem- 
bered. All  the  mess-plate  was  on  the  long 
table  —  the  same  table  that  had  served  up 
the  bodies  of  five  dead  officers  in  a  forgot- 
ten fight  long  and  long  ago  —  the  dingy, 
battered  standards  faced  the  door  of  en- 
trance, clumps  of  winter  roses  lay  between 
the  silver  candlesticks,  the  portraits  of  em- 
inent officers  deceased  looked  down  on 
their  successors  from  between  the  heads  of 
sambhur,  nilghai,  maikhor,  and,  pride  of 
ail  the  mess,  two  grinning  snow-leopards 
that  had  cost  I>asset-Holmer  four  months' 
leave  that  he  might  have  spent  in  England 
instead  of  on  the  road  to  Thibet,  and  the 
daily  risk  of  his  life  on  ledge,  snowr-slide, 
and   glassy  grass-slope. 

The  servants,  in  spotless  white  muslin 
and  the  crest  of  their  regiments  on  the 
brow  of  their  turbans,  waited  behind  their 
masters,  who  were  clad  in  the  scarlet  and 
gold  of  the  White  Hussars  and  the  cream 
and  silver  of  the  Lushkar  Light  Horse. 
Dirkovitch's  dull  green  uniform  was  the 
only  dark  spot  at  the  board,  but  his  big 
onyx  eyes  made  up  for  it.  He  was  frater- 
nizing effusively  with  the  captain  of  the 
Lushkar  team,  who  was  wondering  how 
many  of  Dirkovitch's  Cossacks  his  own 
loner,    latin-    down-countrvmen    could    ac- 


200         Mine  Own  People 

count  for  in  a  fair  charge.     But  one  does 
not  speak  of  these  things  openly. 

The  talk  rose  higher  and  higher,  and 
the  regimental  band  played  between  the 
courses,  as  is  the  immemorial  custom,  till 
all  tongues  ceased  for  a  moment  with  the 
removal  of  the  dinner  slips  and  the  First 
Toast  of  Obligation,  when  the  colonel,  ris- 
ing, said:  "Mr.  Vice,  the  Queen,"  and 
Little  Mildred  from  the  bottom  of  the  table 
answered:  "The  Queen,  God  bless  her!" 
and  the  big  spurs  clanked  as  the  big  men 
heaved  themselves  up  and  drank  the 
Queen,  upon  whose  pay  they  were  falsely 
supposed  to  pay  their  mess-bills.  That  sac- 
rament of  the  mess  never  grows  old,  and 
never  ceases  to  bring  a  lump  into  the  throat 
of  the  listener  wherever  he  be,  by  land  or 
by  sea.  Dirkovitch  rose  with  his  "  brothers 
glorious,"  but  he  could  not  understand. 
No  one  but  an  officer  can  understand  what 
the  toast  means;  and  the  bulk  have  more 
sentiment  than  comprehension.  It  all 
comes  to  the  same  in  the  end,  as  the  enemy 
said  when  he  was  wriggling  on  a  lance- 
point.  Immediately  after  the  little  silence 
that  follows  on  the  ceremony  there  entered 
the  native  officer  who  had  played  for  the 
Lushkar  team.  He  could  not  of  course  eat 
with  the  alien,  but  he  came  in  at  dessert,  all 
six  feet  of  him,  with  the  blue-and-silver  tur- 
ban atop  and  the  big  black  top-boots  below. 


The  Man  Who  Was       201 

The  mess  rose  joyously  as  he  thrust  for- 
ward the  hilt  of  his  saber,  in  token  of  fealty, 
for  the  colonel  of  the  White  Hussars  to 
touch,  and  dropped  into  a  vacant  chair 
amid  shouts  of  "Rung  ho!  Hira  Singh!" 
(which  being  translated  means  "Go  in  and 
win!  "1.  "  Did  I  whack  you  over  the  knee, 
old  man?"  "  Ressaidar  Sahib,  what  the 
devil  made  you  play  that  kicking  pig  of  a 
pony  in  the  last  ten  minutes?"  "  Shabash, 
Ressaidar  Sahib!"  Then  the  voice  of  the 
colonel:  "The  health  of  Ressaidar  Hira 
Singh!  " 

After  the  shouting  had  died  away  Hira 
Singh  rose  to  reply,  for  he  was  the  cadet 
of  a  royal  house,  the  son  of  a  king's  son, 
and  knew  what  was  due  on  these  occasions. 
Thus  he  spoke  in  the  vernacular: 

"  Colonel  Sahib  and  officers  of  this  regi- 
ment, much  honor  have  you  done  me. 
This  will  I  remember.  We  came  down 
from  afar  to  play  you ;  but  we  were  beaten." 
("  Xo  fault  of  yours,  Ressaidar  Sahib. 
Played  on  your  own  ground,  y'  know. 
Your  ponies  were  cramped  from  the  rail- 
way. Don't  apologize.")  "  Therefore  per- 
haps we  will  come  again  if  it  be  so 
ordained."  (''Hear!  Hear,  hear,  indeed! 
Bravo!  H'sh!  ")  "Then  we  will  play  you 
afresh  "  ("  Happy  to  meet  you  "),  "  till  there 
are  left  no  feet  upon  our  ponies.  Thus  far 
for  sport."     He  dropped  one  hand  on  his 


202         Mine  Own  People 

sword-hilt,  and  his  eye  wandered  to  Dirko- 
vitch  lolling  back  in  his  chair.  "  But  if  by 
the  will  of  God  there  arises  any  other  game 
which  is  not  the  polo  game,  then  be  as- 
sured, Colonel  Sahib  and  officers,  that  we 
shall  play  it  out  side  by  side,  though  they  " 
—  again  his  eye  sought  Dirkovitch  — 
"  though  they,  I  say,  have  fifty  ponies  to 
our  one  horse."  And  with  a  deep-mouthed 
Rung  ho!  that  rang  like  a  musket-butt  on 
flag-stones,  he  sat  down  amid  shoutings. 

Dirkovitch,  who  had  devoted  himself 
steadily  to  the  brandy  —  the  terrible 
brandy  aforementioned  —  did  not  under- 
stand, nor  did  the  expurgated  translations 
offered  to  him  at  all  convey  the  point.  De- 
cidedly the  native  officer's  was  the  speech 
of  the  evening,  and  the  clamor  might  have 
continued  to  the  dawn  had  it  not  been 
broken  by  the  noise  of  a  shot  without  that 
sent  every  man  feeling  at  his  defenseless 
left  side.  It  is  notable  that  Dirkovitch 
"  reached  back,"  after  the  American  fash- 
ion —  a  gesture  that  set  the  captain  of  the 
Lushkar  team  wondering  how  Cossack  offi- 
cers were  armed  at  mess.  Then  there  was 
a  scuffle  and  a  yell  of  pain. 

"  Carbine-stealing  again!  "  said  the  adju- 
tant, calmly  sinking  back  in  his  chair. 
"  This  comes  of  reducing  the  guards.  I 
hope  the  sentries  have  killed  him." 

The  feet  of  armed  men  pounded  on  the 


The  Man  Who  Was       203 

veranda  flags,   and  it  sounded  as  though 
something  was  ^eing  dragged. 

"  Why  don't  they  put  him  in  the  cells 
till  the  morning?"  said  the  colonel,  testily. 
"  See  if  they've  damaged  him,  sergeant." 

The  mess-sergeant  fled  out  into  the  dark- 
ness, and  returned  with  two  troopers  and 
a  corporal,  all  very  much  perplexed. 

"  Caught  a  man  stealin'  carbines,  sir," 
said  the  corporal.  "  Leastways  'e  was 
crawlin'  toward  the  barricks,  sir,  past  the 
main-road  sentries;  an'  the  sentry  'e  says, 
sir  — " 

The  limp  heap  of  rags  upheld  by  the 
three  men  groaned.  Never  was  seen  so 
destitute  and  demoralized  an  Afghan.  He 
was  turbanless,  shoeless,  caked  with  dirt, 
and  all  but  dead  with  rough  handling. 
Hira  Singh  started  slightly  at  the  sound  of 
the  man's  pain.  Dirkovitch  took  another 
liqueur  glass  of  brandy. 

"Illicit  does  the  sentry  say?"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  Sez  he  speaks  English,  sir,"  said  the 
corporal. 

"  So  you  brought  him  into  mess  instead 
of  handing  him  over  to  the  sergeant!  If 
he  spoke  all  the  tongues  of  the  Pentecost, 
you've  no  business  — " 

Again  the  bundle  groaned  and  muttered. 
Little  Mildred  had  risen  from  his  place  to 


204         Mine  Own  People 

inspect.  He  jumped  back  as  though  he 
had  been  shot. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  sir,  to  send 
the  men  away,"  said  he  to  the  colonel,  for 
he  was  a  much-privileged  subaltern.  He 
put  his  arms  round  the  rag-bownd  horror 
as  he  spoke,  and  dropped  him  into  a  chair. 
It  may  not  have  been  explained  that  the 
littleness  of  Mildred  lay  in  his  being  six 
feet  four,  and  big  in  proportion.  The  cor- 
poral, seeing  that  an  officer  was  disposed 
to  look  after  the  capture,  and  that  the 
colonel's  eye  was  beginning  to  blaze, 
promptly  removed  himself  and  his  men. 
The  mess  was  left  alone  with  the  carbine 
thief,  who  laid  his  head  on  the  table  and 
wrept  bitterly,  hopelessly,  and  inconsolably, 
as  little  children  weep. 

Hira  Singh  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a 
long-drawn  vernacular  oath.  "  Colonel 
Sahib,"  said  he,  "  that  man  is  no  Afghan, 
for  they  weep  '  Ail  Ail3  Nor  is  he  of 
Hindoostan,  for  they  weep  '  Oh!  Ho! '  He 
weeps  after  the  fashion  of  the  white  men, 
who  say  '  Owl  Owl '  " 

"  Now  where  the  dickens  did  you  get 
that  knowledge,  Hira  Singh?"  said  the 
captain  of  the  Lushkar  team. 

"  Hear  him !  "  said  Hira  Singh,  simply, 
pointing  at  the  crumpled  figure,  that  wept 
as  though  it  would  never  cease. 


The  Man  Who  Was       205 

"  He  said,  '  My  God! '  "  said  Little  Mil- 
dred.    "  I  heard  him  say  it." 

The  colonel  and  the  mess-room  looked 
at  the  man  in  silence.  It  is  a  horrible  thing 
to  hear  a  man  cry.  A  woman  can  sob 
from  the  top  of  her  palate,  or  her  lips,  or 
am  where  else,  but  a  man  cries  from  his 
diaphragm,  and  it  rends  him  to  pieces. 
Also,  the  exhibition  causes  the  throat  of 
the  on-looker  to  close  at  the  top. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  the  colonel,  cough- 
ing tremendously.  "  We  ought  to  send 
him  to  hospital.     He's  been  mishandled." 

Now  the  adjutant  loved  his  rifles.  They 
were  to  him  as  his  grandchildren — the  men 
standing  in  the  first  place.  He  grunted  re- 
belliouslv:  "I  can  understand  an  Afghan 
stealing,  because  he's  made  that  way.  But 
I  can't  understand  his  crying.  That  makes 
it  worse." 

The  brandy  must  have  affected  Dirko- 
vitch,  for  he  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  stared 
at  the  ceiling.  There  was  nothing  special 
in  the  ceiling  beyond  a  shadow  as  of  a  huge 
black  coffin.  Owing  to  some  peculiarity 
in  the  construction  of  the  mess-room,  this 
shadow  was  always  thrown  when  the  can- 
dles were  lighted.  It  never  disturbed  the 
digestion  of  the  White  Hussars.  They 
were,  in  fact,  rather  proud  of  it. 

"  Is  he  going  to  cry  all  night,"  said  the 
colonel,  "  or  are  we  supposed  to  sit  up  with 


206        Mine  Own  People 

Little  Mildred's  guest  unt^  ne  feels 
better?" 

The  man  in  the  chair  threw  up  his  head 
and  stared  at  the  mess.  Outside,  the 
wheels  of  the  first  of  those  bidden  to  the 
festivities  crunched  the  roadway. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  the  man  in  the 
chair,  and  every  soul  in  the  mess  rose  to 
his  feet.  Then  the  Lushkar  captain  did  a 
deed  for  which  he  ought  to  have  been  given 
the  Victoria  Cross  —  distinguished  gallan- 
try in  a  fight  against  overwhelming  curi- 
osity. He  picked  up  his  team  with  his 
eyes  as  the  hostess  picks  up  the  ladies  at 
the  opportune  moment,  and  pausing  only 
by  the  colonel's  chair  to  say:  "This  isn't 
our  affair,  you  know,  sir,"  led  the  team 
into  the  veranda  and  the  gardens.  Hira 
Singh  was  the  last,  and  he  looked  at  Dirko- 
vitch  as  he  moved.  But  Dirkovitch  had 
departed  into  a  brandy  paradise  of  his  own. 
His  lips  moved  without  sound,  and  he  was 
studying  the  coffin  on  the  ceiling. 

"  White  —  white  all  over,"  said  Basset- 
Holmer,  the  adjutant.  "  What  a  perni- 
cious renegade  he  must  be!  I  wonder 
where  he  came  from?  " 

The  colonel  shook  the  man  gently  by 
the  arm,  and  "Who  are  you?"  said  he. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  man  stared 
round  the  mess-room  and  smiled  in  the 
colonel's    face.     Little    Mildred,    who    was 


The  Man  Who  Was       207 

always  more  of  a  woman  than  a  man  till 
"  Hoot  and  saddle  "  was  sounded,  repeated 
the  question  in  a  voice  that  would  have 
drawn  confidences  from  a  geyser.  The 
man  only  smiled.  Dirkovitch,  at  the  far 
end  of  the  table,  slid  gently  from  his  chair 
to  the  floor.  No  son  of  Adam,  in  this 
present  imperfect  world,  can  mix  the  Hus- 
sars' champagne  with  the  Hussars'  brandy 
by  five  and  eight  glasses  of  each  without 
remembering  the  pit  whence  he  has  been 
digged  and  descended  thither.  The  band 
began  to  play  the  tune  with  which  the 
White  Hussars,  from  the  date  of  their  for- 
mation, preface  all  their  functions.  They 
would  sooner  be  disbanded  than  abandon 
that  tune.  It  is  a  part  of  their  system. 
The  man  straightened  himself  in  his  chair 
and  drummed  on  the  table  with  his  fingers. 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  entertain 
lunatics,"  said  the  colonel;  "call  a  guard 
and  send  him  off  to  the  cells.  We'll  look 
into  the  business  in  the  morning.  Give 
him  a  glass  of  wine  first,  though." 

Little  Mildred  filled  a  sherry  glass  with 
the  brandy  and  thrust  it  over  to  the  man. 
He  drank,  and  the  tune  rose  louder,  and 
he  straightened  himself  yet  more.  Then 
he  put  out  his  long-taloned  hands  to  a  piece 
of  plate  opposite  and  fingered  it  lovingly. 
There  was  a  mystery  connected  with  that 
piece   of  plate   in   the   shape   of   a   spring, 


208         Mine  Own  People 

which  converted  what  was  a  seven- 
branched  candlestick,  three  springs  each 
side  and  one  in  the  middle,  into  a  sort  of 
wheel-spoke  candelabrum.  He  found  the 
spring,  pressed  it,  and  laughed  weakly. 
He  rose  from  his  chair  and  inspected  a  pic- 
ture on  the  wall,  then  moved  on  to  another 
picture,  the  mess  watching  him  without  a 
word.  When  he  came  to  the  mantel-piece 
he  shook  his  head  and  seemed  distressed. 
A  piece  of  plate  representing  a  mounted 
hussar  in  full  uniform  caught  his  eye.  He 
pointed  to  it,  and  then  to  the  mantel-piece, 
with  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  —  oh,  what  is  it?  "  said  Lit- 
tle Mildred.  Then,  as  a  mother  might 
speak  to  a  child,  "  That  is  a  horse  —  yes, 
a  horse." 

Very  slowly  came  the  answer,  in  a  thick, 
passionless  guttural :  "  Yes,  I  —  have  seen. 
But  —  where  is  the  horse?" 

He  could  have  heard  the  hearts  of  the 
mess  beating  as  the  men  drew  back  to  give 
the  stranger  full  room  in  his  wanderings. 
There  was  no  question  of  calling  the 
guard. 

Again  he  spoke,  very  slowly:  "Where 
is  our  horse?  " 

There  is  no  saying  what  happened  after 
that.  There  is  but  one  horse  in  the  White 
Hussars,  and  his  portrait  hangs  outside  the 
door  of  the  mess-room.     He  is  the  piebald 


The  Man  Who  Was       209 

drum-horse,  the  king  of  the  regimental 
band,  that  served  the  regiment  for  seven 
and  thirty  years,  and  in  the  end  was 
shot  for  old  age.  Half  the  mess  tore 
the  thing  down  from  its  place  and 
thrust  it  into  the  man's  hands.  He 
placed  it  above  the  mantel-piece;  it  clat- 
tered on  the  ledge,  as  his  poor  hands 
dropped  it,  and  he  staggered  toward  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  falling  into  Mildred's 
chair.  The  band  began  to  play  the  "  River 
1  >f  Years  "  waltz,  and  the  laughter  from  the 
gardens  came  into  the  tobacco-scented 
mess-room.  But  nobody,  even  the  young- 
est, was  thinking  of  waltzes.  They  all 
spoke  to  one  another  something  after  this 
fashion:  "The  drum-horse  hasn't  hung 
over  the  mantel-piece  since  '67."  "How 
does  he  know?"  "  Mildred,  go  and  speak 
to  him  again."  "  Colonel,  what  are  you 
going  to  do?  "  "  Oh,  dry  up,  and  give  the 
poor  devil  a  chance  to  pull  himself  to- 
gether! "  "  It  isn't  possible,  anyhow.  The 
man's  a  lunatic." 

Little  Mildred  stood  at  the  colonel's  side 
talking  into  his  ear.  "  Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  take  your  seats,  please,  gentle- 
men? '*  he  said,  and  the  mess  dropped  into 
the  chairs. 

(  Inly  Dirkovitch's  seat,  next  to  Little 
Mildred's,  was  blank,  and  Little  Mildred 
himself    had    found    Hira    Singh's    place. 


21  o         Mine  Own  People 

The  wide-eyed  mess-sergeant  filled  the 
glasses  in  dead  silence.  Once  more  the 
colonel  rose,  but  his  hand  shook,  and  the 
port  spilled  on  the  table  as  he  looked 
straight  at  the  man  in  Little  Mildred's 
chair  and  said,  hoarsely:  "Mr.  Vice,  the 
Queen."  There  was  a  little  pause,  but  the 
man  sprung  to  his  feet  and  answered,  with- 
out hesitation:  "The  Queen,  God  bless 
her!  "  and  as  he  emptied  the  thin  glass  he 
snapped  the  shank  between  his  fingers. 

Long  and  long  ago,  when  the  Empress 
of  India  was  a  young  woman,  and  there 
were  no  unclean  ideals  in  the  land,  it  was 
the  custom  in  a  few  messes  to  drink  the 
queen's  toast  in  broken  glass,  to  the  huge 
delight  of  the  mess  contractors.  The  cus- 
tom is  now  dead,  because  there  is  nothing 
to  break  anything  for,  except  now  and 
again  the  word  of  a  government,  and  that 
has  been  broken  already. 

"  That  settles  it,"  said  the  colonel,  with 
a  gasp.  "  He's  not  a  sergeant.  What  in 
the  world  is  he?  " 

The  entire  mess  echoed  the  word,  and  the 
volley  of  questions  would  have  scared  any 
man.  Small  wonder  that  the  ragged,  fil- 
thy invader  could  only  smile  and  shake 
his  head. 

From  under  the  table,  calm  and  smiling 
urbanely,  rose  Dirkovitch,  who  had  been 
roused  from  healthful  slumber  by  feet  upon 


The  Man  Who  Was       211 

his  body.  By  the  side  of  the  man  he  rose, 
and  the  man  shrieked  and  groveled  at  his 
feet.  It  was  a  horrible  sight,  coming  so 
swiftly  upon  the  pride  and  glory  of  the 
toast  that  had  brought  the  strayed  wits 
together. 

Dirkovitch  made  no  offer  to  raise  him, 
but  Little  Mildred  heaved  him  up  in  an 
instant.  It  is  not  good  that  a  gentleman 
who  can  answer  to  the  queen's  toast  should 
lie  at  the  feet  of  a  subaltern  of  Cossacks. 

The  hasty  action  tore  the  wretch's  upper 
clothing  nearly  to  the  waist,  and  his  body 
was  seamed  with  dry  black  scars.  There 
is  only  one  weapon  in  the  world  that  cuts 
in  parallel  lines,  and  it  is  neither  the  cane 
nor  the  cat.  Dirkovitch  saw  the  marks, 
and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated  —  also, 
his  face  changed.  He  said  something  that 
sounded  like  "  Shto  ve  takete;"  and  the 
man,  fawning,  answered  "  Chetyre." 

"What's  that?"  said  everybody  to- 
gether. 

"  His  number.  That  is  number  four, 
you  know."  Dirkovitch  spoke  very 
thickly. 

"  What  has  a  queen's  officer  to  do  with 
a  qualified  number?  "  said  the  colonel,  and 
there  rose  an  unpleasant  growl  round  the 
table. 

"  How  can  I  tell?  "  said  the  affable  Ori- 
ental, with  a  sweet  smile.    "  He  is  a  —  how 


212         Mine  Own  People 

you    have    it?  —  escape  —  runaway,   from 
over  there." 

He  nodded  toward  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 

"  Speak  to  him,  if  he'll  answer  you,  and 
speak  to  him  gently,"  said  Little  Mildred, 
settling  the  man  in  a  chair.  It  seemed 
most  improper  to  all  present  that  Dirko- 
vitch  should  sip  brandy  as  he  talked  in 
purring,  spitting  Russian  to  the  creature 
who  answered  so  feebly  and  with  such  evi- 
dent dread.  But  since  Dirkovitch  appeared 
to  understand,  no  man  said  a  word.  They 
breathed  heavily,  leaning  forward  in  the 
long  gaps  of  the  conversation.  The  next 
time  that  they  have  no  engagements  on 
hand  the  White  Hussars  intend  to  go  to 
St.  Petersburg  and  learn  Russian. 

"  He  does  not  know  how  many  years 
ago,"  said  Dirkovitch,  facing  the  mess, 
"  but  he  says  it  was  very  long  ago,  in  a 
war.  I  think  that  there  was  an  accident. 
He  says  he  was  of  this  glorious  and  dis- 
tinguished regiment  in  the  war." 

"  The  rolls!  The  rolls!  Holmer,  get 
the  rolls!  "  said  Little  Mildred,  and  the  ad- 
jutant dashed  off  bareheaded  to  the  order- 
ly-room where  the  rolls  of  the  regiment 
were  kept.  He  returned  just  in  time  to 
hear  Dirkovitch  conclude:  ''Therefore  I 
am  most  sorry  to  say  there  was  an  acci- 
dent, which  would  have  been  reparable  if 


The  Man  Who  Was       2 1  3 

he  had  apologized  to  that  our  colonel, 
which  he  had  insulted." 

Another  growl,  which  the  colonel  tried 
to  beat  down.  The  mess  was  in  no  mood 
to  weigh  insults  to  Russian  colonels  just 
then. 

"  He  does  not  remember,  but  I  think  that 
there  was  an  accident,  and  so  he  was  not 
exchanged  among  the  prisoners,  but  he 
was  sent  to  another  place  —  how  do  you 
say?  —  the  country.  So,  he  says,  he  came 
here.  He  does  not  know  how  he  came. 
Eh?  He  was  at  Chepany " — the  man 
caught  the  word,  nodded,  and  shivered  — 
44  at  Zhigansk  and  Irkutsk.  I  can  not  un- 
derstand how  he  escaped.  He  says,  too, 
that  he  was  in  the  forests  for  many  years, 
but  how  many  years  he  has  forgotten  — 
that  with  many  things.  It  was  an  acci- 
dent; done  because  he  did  not  apologize  to 
that  our  colonel.     Ah !  " 

Instead  of  echoing  Dirkovitch's  sigh  of 
regret,  it  is  sad  to  record  that  the  White 
Hussars  livelily  exhibited  unchristian  de- 
light and  other  emotions,  hardly  restrained 
by  their  sense  of  hospitality.  Holmer  flung 
the  frayed  and  yellow  regimental  rolls  on 
the  table,  and  the  men  flung  themselves 
atop  of  these. 

"  Steady !  Fifty-six  —  fifty-five  —  fifty- 
four,"  said  Holmer.  "  Here  we  are. 
'  Lieutenant  Austin  Limmason  —  missing.' 


214         Mine  Own  People 

That  was  before  Sebastopol.  What  an  in- 
fernal shame!  Insulted  one  of  their  colo- 
nels, and  was  quietly  shipped  off.  Thirty 
years  of  his  life  wiped  out." 

"  But  he  never  apologized.  Said  he'd 
see  him first,"  chorused  the  mess. 

"  Poor  devil!  I  suppose  he  never  had 
the  chance  afterward.  How  did  he  come 
here?"  said  the  colonel. 

The  dingy  heap  in  the  chair  could  give 
no  answer. 

"  Do  you  know  who  you  are?  " 

It  laughed  weakly. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  Limmason 
—  Lieutenant  Limmason,  of  the  White 
Hussars?  " 

Swift  as  a  shot  came  the  answer,  in  a 
slightly  surprised  tone:  "Yes,  I'm  Lim- 
mason, of  course."  The  light  died  out  in 
his  eyes,  and  he  collapsed  afresh,  watching 
every  motion  of  Dirkovitch  with  terror. 
A  flight  from  Siberia  may  fix  a  few  ele- 
mentary facts  in  the  mind,  but  it  does  not 
lead  to  continuity  of  thought.  The  man 
could  not  explain  how,  like  a  homing  pig- 
eon, he  had  found  his  way  to  his  old  mess 
again.  Of  what  he  had  suffered  or  seen 
he  knew  nothing.  He  cringed  before 
Dirkovitch  as  instinctively  as  he  had 
pressed  the  spring  of  the  candlestick, 
sought  the  picture  of  the  drum-horse,  and 
answered  to  the  queen's  toast.     The  rest 


The  Man  Who  Was       215 

was  a  blank  that  the  dreaded  Russian 
tongue  could  only  in  part  remove.  His 
head  bowed  on  his  breast,  and  he  giggled 
and  cowered  alternately. 

The  devil  that  lived  in  the  brandy 
prompted  Dirkovitch  at  this  extremely  in- 
opportune moment  to  make  a  speech.  He 
rose,  swaying  slightly,  gripped  the  table- 
edge,  while  his  eyes  glowed  like  opals,  and 
began : 

"  Fellow-soldiers  glorious  —  true  friends 
and  hospitables.  It  was  an  accident,  and 
deplorable  —  most  deplorable."  Here  he 
smiled  sweetly  all  round  the  mess.  "  But 
you  will  think  of  this  little  —  little  thing. 
So  little,  is  it  not?  The  czar!  Posh!  I 
slap  my  fingers  —  I  snap  my  fingers  at 
him.  Do  I  believe  in  him?  No!  But  the 
Slav  who  has  done  nothing,  him  I  believe. 
Seventy — how  much?  —  millions  that  have 
done  nothing  —  not  one  thing.  Napoleon 
was  an  episode.''  He  banged  a  hand  on 
the  table.  "  Hear  you,  old  peoples,  we 
have  done  nothing  in  the  world  —  out  here. 
All  our  work  is  to  do:  and  it  shall  be  done, 
old  peoples.  Get  away!"  He  waved  his 
hand  imperiously,  and  pointed  to  the  man. 
"  You  see  him.  He  is  not  good  to  see. 
He  was  just  one  little  —  oh,  so  little  — 
accident,  that  no  one  remembered.  Now 
he  is  That.  So  will  you  be,  brother-sol- 
diers so  brave  —  so  will  vou  be.     But  you 


2i 6         Mine  Own  People 

will  never  come  back.  You  will  all  go 
where  he  is  gone,  or  — "  he  pointed  to  the 
great  coffin  shadow  on  the  ceiling,  and  mut- 
tering, "  Seventy  millions  —  get  away,  you 
old  people,"  fell  asleep. 

"  Sweet,  and  to  the  point,"  said  Little 
Mildred.  "  What's  the  use  of  getting 
wroth?  Let's  make  the  poor  devil 
comfortable." 

But  that  was  a  matter  suddenly  and 
swiftly  taken  from  the  loving  hands  of  the 
White  Hussars.  The  lieutenant  had  re- 
turned only  to  go  away  again  three  days 
later,  when  the  wail  of  the  u  Dead  March  " 
and  the  tramp  of  the  squadrons  told  the 
wondering  station,  that  saw  no  gap  in  the 
table,  an  officer  of  the  regiment  had  re- 
signed his  new-found  commission. 

And  Dirkovitch  —  bland,  supple,  and 
always  genial  —  went  away  too  by  a  night 
train.  Little  Mildred  and  another  saw  him 
off,  for  he  was  the  guest  of  the  mess,  and 
even  had  he  smitten  the  colonel  with  the 
open  hand,  the  law  of  the  mess  allowed  no 
relaxation  of  hospitality. 

"  Good-bye,  Dirkovitch,  and  a  pleasant 
journey,"  said  Little  Mildred. 

"  Au  revoir,  my  true  friends,"  said  the 
Russian. 

"Indeed!  But  we  thought  you  were 
going  home?  " 

"Yes;    but    I    will    come    again.     My 


The  Man  Who  Was       217 

friends,  is  that  road  shut?  "  He  pointed 
to  where  the  north  star  burned  over  the 
Khyber  Pass. 

"  By  Jove!  I  forgot.  Of  course.  Happy 
to  meet  you,  old  man,  any  time  you  like. 
Got  everything  you  want  —  cheroots,  ice, 
bedding?  That's  all  right.  Well,  an  rc- 
z'oir,  Dirkovitch." 

"  Urn,"  said  the  other  man,  as  the  tail- 
lights  of  the  train  grew  small.  "  Of  —  all 
—  the  —  unmitigated  — " 

Little  Mildred  answered  nothing,  but 
watched  the  north  star,  and  hummed  a 
selection  from  a  recent  burlesque  that  had 
much  delighted  the  White  Hussars.  It 
ran: 

••  I'm  sorry  for  Mr.  Bluebeard, 
I'm  sorry  to  cause  him  pain: 
But  a  terrible  spree  there's  sure  to  be 
When  he  comes  back  again." 


THE  END. 


On   Greenhow   Hill 


ON  GREENHOW  HILL. 


"  Ohe  ahmed  din  /  Shafiz  Ullah  ahoo  f 
Bahadur  Khan,  where  are  you  ?  Come  out  of 
the  tents,  as  I  have  done,  and  fight  against 
the  English.  Don't  kill  your  own  kin  !  Come 
out  to  me  !  " 

The  deserter  from  a  native  corps  was 
crawling  round  the  outskirts  of  the  camp, 
firing  at  intervals,  and  shouting  invitations  to 
his  old  comrades.  Misled  by  the  riin  and  the 
darkness,  he  came  to  the  English  wing  of  the 
camp,  and  with  his  yelping  and  rifle  practise 
disturbed  the  men.  They  had  been  making 
roads  all  day,  and  were  tired. 

Ortheris  was  sleeping  at  Learoyd's  feet. 
"  Wot's  all  that  ?  "  he  said,  thickly.  Learoyd 
snored,  and  a  Snider  bullet  ripped  its  way 
through  the  tent  wall.  The  men  swore. 
"  It's  that  bloomin'  deserter  from  the  Aurang- 
abadis,"  said  Ortheris.  "  Git  up,  some  one, 
an'  tell  'em  'e's  come  to  the  wrong  shop." 

"  Go  to  sleep,  little  man,"  said  Mulvaney, 
who  was  steaming  nearest  the  door.  "  I 
can't  rise  an'  expaytiate  with  him.  'Tis 
rainin'  intrenchin'  tools  outside." 


222         On  Greenhow  Hill 

"  'Tain't  because  you  bloomin'  can't.  It's 
cause  you  bloomin'  won't,  ye  long,  limp,  lousy, 
lazy  beggar  you.     'Ark  to  'im  'owling  !  " 

"  Wot's  the  good  of  argyfying?  Put  a 
bullet  into  the  swine  ?  'E's  keepin'  us 
awake  !  "  said  another  voice. 

A  subaltern  shouted  angrily,  and  a  dripping 
sentry  whined  from  the  darkness. 

"  'Tain't  no  good,  sir.  I  can't  see  'im.  'E's 
'idin'  somewhere  down  'ill." 

Ortheris  tumbled  out  of  his  blanket. 
"  Shall  I  try  to  get  'im,  sir  ?  "  said  he. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer ;  "  lie  down.  I 
won't  have  the  whole  camp  shooting  all 
round  the  clock.  Tell  him  to  go  and  pot  his 
friends." 

Ortheris  considered  for  a  moment.  Then, 
putting  his  head  under  the  tent  wall,  he  called, 
as  a  'bus  conductor  calls  in  a  block,  "  Tgher 
up,  there  !     Tgher  up  !  " 

The  men  laughed,  and  the  laughter  was 
carried  down  wind  to  the  deserter,  who,  hear- 
ing that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  went  off  to 
worry  his  own  regiment  half  a  mile  away.  He 
was  received  with  shots,  for  the  Aurangabadis 
were  very  angry  with  him  for  disgracing  their 
colors. 

"  An'  that's  all  right,"  said  Ortheris,  with- 
drawing his  head  as  he  heard  the  hiccough  of 
the  Sniders  in  the  distance.  "  S'elp  me 
Gawd,  tho',  that  man's  not  fit  to  live — messin' 
with  my  beauty-sleep  this  way." 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


223 


"  Go  out  and  shoot  him  in  the  morning, 
then,"  said  the  subaltern,  incautiously. 
"  Silence  in  the  tents  now  !  Get  your  rest, 
men  !  " 

Ortheris  lay  down  with  a  happy  little  sigh, 
and  in  two  minutes  there  was  no  sound  ex- 
cept the  rain  on  the  canvas  and  the  all-em- 
bracing and  elemental  snoring  of  Learoyd. 

The  camp  lay  on  a  bare  ridge  of  the  Him- 
alayas, and  for  a  week  had  been  waiting  for 
a  Hying  column  to  make  connection.  The 
nightly  rounds  of  the  deserter  and  his  friends 
had  become  a  nuisance. 

In  the  morning  the  men  dried  themselves  in 
hot  sunshine  and  cleaned  their  grimy  accouter- 
ments.  The  native  regiment  was  to  take  its 
turn  of  road-making  that  day  while  the  Old 
Regiment  loafed. 

11  I'm  goin'  to  lay  fer  a  shot  at  that  man," 
said  Ortheris,  when  he  had  finished  washing 
out  his  rifle.  "  'E  comes  up  the  water-course 
every  evenin'  about  five  o'clock.  If  we  go 
and  lie  out  on  the  north  'ill  a  bit  this  after- 
noon we'll  get  'im." 

"  You're  a  bloodthirsty  little  mosquito," 
said  Mulvaney,  blowing  blue  clouds  into  the 
air.  "  But  I  suppose  I  will  have  to  come  wid 
you.     Fwhere's  Jock  ?  " 

11  Gone  out  with  the  Mixed  Pickles,  'cause 
'e  thinks  'isself  a  bloomin'  marksman,"  said 
Ortheris.  with  scorn. 

The  "  Mixed   Pickles  "  were  a  detachment 


224         On  Greenhow  Hill 

of  picked  shots,  generally  employed  in  clear- 
ing spurs  of  hills  when  the  enemy  were  too 
impertinent.  This  taught  the  young  officers 
how  to  handle  men,  and  did  not  do  the  enemy 
much  harm.  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  strolled 
out  of  camp,  and  passed  the  Aurangabadis 
going  to  their  road-making. 

"  You've  got  to  sweat  to-day,"  said 
Ortheris,  genially.  "  We're  going  to  get  your 
man.  You  didn't  knock  'im  out  last  night  by 
any  chance,  any  of  you  ?  " 

"  No.  The  pig  went  away  mocking  us.  I 
had  one  shot  at  him,"  said  a  private.  "  He's 
my  cousin,  and  /  ought  to  have   cleared  our 


dishonor.      But  £Ood-luck  to 


you. 


They  went  cautiously  to  the  north  hill, 
Ortheris  leading,  because,  as  he  explained, 
"  this  is  a  long-range  show,  an'  I've  got  to  do 
it."  His  was  an  almost  passionate  devotion 
to  his  rifle,  whom,  by  barrack-room  report,  he 
was  supposed  to  kiss  every  night  before  turn- 
ing in.  Charges  and  scuffles  he  held  in  con- 
tempt, and,  when  they  were  inevitable,  slipped 
between  Mulvaney  and  Learoyd,  bidding  them 
to  fight  for  his  skin  as  well  as  their  own. 
They  never  failed  him.  He  trotted  along, 
questing  like  a  hound  on  a  broken  trail, 
through  the  wood  of  the  north  hill.  At  last 
he  was  satisfied,  and  threw  himself  down  on 
the  soft  pine-needle  slope  that  commanded  a 
clear  view  of  the  water-course  and  a  brown  bare 
hillside  beyond  it.      The  trees  made  a  scented 


On  Green  how  Hill         225 

darkness  in  which  an  army  corps  could  have 
hidden  from  the  sun-glare  without. 

"  'Ere's  the  tail  o'  the  wood,"  said  Ortheris. 
"  'E's  got  to  come  up  the  water-course,  'cause 
it  gives  'im  cover.  We'll  lay  'ere.  'Taiivt  not 
'arf  so  bloomin'  dusty  neither." 

He  buried  his  nose  in  a  clump  of  scentless 
white  violets.  No  one  had  come  to  tell  the 
flowers  that  the  season  of  their  strength  was 
long  past,  and  they  had  bloomed  merrily  in 
the  twilight  of  the  pines. 

"  This  is  something  like,"  he  said,  luxuri- 
ously. "  Wot  a  'evinly  clear  drop  for  a  bullet 
acrost.  How  much  d'  you  make  it,  Mul- 
vaney  ?  " 

"  Seven  hunder.  Maybe  a  trifle  less,  bekase 
the  air's  so  thin." 

Wop}  wop!  wop !  went  a  volley  of  mus- 
ketry on  the  rear  face  of  the  north  hill. 

"  Curse  them  Mixed  Pickles  firin'  at  nothin' ! 
They'll  scare  'arf  the  country." 

"  Thry  a  sightin'  shot  in  the  middle  of  the 
row,"  said  Mulvaney,  the  man  of  many  wiles. 
"  There's  a  red  rock  yonder  he'll  be  sure  to 
pass.     Quick !  " 

Ortheris  ran  his  sight  up  to  six  hundred 
yards  and  fired.  The  bullet  threw  up  a 
feather  of  dust  by  a  clump  of  gentians  at  the 
base  of  the  rock. 

"  Good  enough  !  "  said  Ortheris,  snapping 
the  scale  down.  "  You  snick  your  sights  to 
mine,  or  a  little  lower.     You're  always    firin' 

15 


226         On  Greenhow  Hill 

high.  But  remember,  first  shot  to  me.  Oh, 
Lordy  !  but  it's  a  lovely  afternoon." 

The  noise  of  the  firing  grew  louder,  and 
there  was  a  tramping  of  men  in  the  wood. 
The  two  lay  very  quiet,  for  they  knew  that  the 
British  soldier  is  desperately  prone  to  fire  at 
anything  that  moves  or  calls.  Then  Learoyd 
appeared,  his  tunic  ripped  across  the  breast  by 
a  bullet,  looking  ashamed  of  himself.  He 
flung  down  on  the  pine-needles,  breathing  in 
snorts. 

"  One  o'  them  damned  gardeners  o'  th' 
Pickles,"  said  he,  fingering  the  rent.  "  Firin' 
to  th'  right  flank,  when  he  knowed  I  was  there. 
If  I  knew  who  he  was  I'd  'a'  ripped  the  hide 
off  'un.     Look  at  ma  tunic  !  " 

"  That's  the  spishil  trustability  av  a  marks- 
man. Train  him  to  hit  a  fly  wid  a  stiddy  rest 
at  seven  hunder,  an'  he'll  loose  on  anythin' 
he  sees  or  hears  up  to  th'  mile.  You're  well 
out  av  that  fancy-firin'  gang,  Jock.  Stay 
here." 

"  Bin  firin'  at  the  bloomin'  wind  in  the 
bloomin'  treetops,"  said  Ortheris,  with  a 
chuckle.     "  I'll  show  you  some  firin'  later  on." 

They  wallowed  in  the  pine-needles,  and  the 
sun  warmed  them  where  they  lay.  The  Mixed 
Pickles  ceased  firing  and  returned  to  camp, 
and  left  the  wood  to  a  few  scared  apes.  The 
water-course  lifted  up  its  voice  in  the  silence 
and  talked  foolishly  to  the  rocks.  Now  and 
again  the  dull  thump  of  a  blasting  charge  three 


On  Green  how  Hill 


227 


miles  away  told  that  the  Aurangabadis  were  in 
difficulties  with  their  road-making.  The  men 
smiled  as  they  listened,  and  lay  still  soaking 
in  the  warm  leisure.  Presently  Learoyd,  be- 
tween the  whiffs  of  his  pipe  : 

"  Seems  queer — about  'im  yonder — desertin' 
at  all." 

"  'E'll  be  a  bloomin'  side  queerer  when  I've 
done  with  'im,"  said  Ortheris.  They  were 
talking  in  whispers,  for  the  stillness  of  the 
wood  and  the  desire  of  slaughter  lay  heavy 
upon  them. 

"  I  make  no  doubt  he  had  his  reasons  for 
desertin'  ;  but,  my  faith !  I  make  less  doubt 
ivry  man  has  good  reason  for  killin'  him,"  said 
Mulvaney. 

"  Happen  there  was  a  lass  tewed  up  wi'  it. 
Men  do  more  than  more  forth'  sake  of  a  lass." 

"  They  make  most  av  of  us  'list.  They've 
no  manner  av  right  to  make  us  desert." 

"  Ah,  they  make  us  'list,  or  their  fathers 
do,"  said  Learoyd,  softly,  his  helmet  over  his 
eyes. 

Ortheris'  brows  contracted  savagely.  He 
was  watching  the  valley.  "  If  it's  a  girl,  I'll 
shoot  the  beggar  twice  over,  an'  second  time 
for  bein'  a  fool.  You're  blasted  sentimental 
all  of  a  sudden.  Thinkin'  o'  your  last  near 
shave  ?  " 

"  Nay,  lad ;  ah  was  but  thinkin'  o'  what 
had  happened." 

"  An'  fwhat    has    happened,    ye    lumberin' 


228        On  Greenhow  I  lill 


child  av  calamity,  that  you're  lowing  like  a 
cow  calf  ;it  the  hack  av  the  pasture,  an'  sug- 
gestin'  Invidious  excuses  for  the  man  Stanley's 
goin'  to  kill.  Ve'll  have  to  wait  another  hour 
yet,  little  man.  Spil  ii  out,  Jock,  an'  bellow 
melojus  to  the  tnoon.  It  takes  an  earthquake 
or  a  l)nll<'t  graze  to  letch  aught  out  av  youi 
Discourse,  Don  Juan!  The  a-moors  oi  Lo- 
tharius  Learoyd.  Stanley,  kape  a  rowlin' 
rig'mental  eye  on  the  valley." 

"  It's  along  o'  yon  hill  there,"  said  Learoyd, 
watching  the   hare  sub-Himalayan  spin-  that 

reminded    him    of    his  Yorkshire    moors.       lie 

was  speaking  more  to  himself  than  his  fellows. 

11  Ay,"  Said  he;    il  RumboldS  Moor    stands    ii|) 

ower  Skipton  town,  an'  Greenhow  l  lill  stands 
up  ower  Pately  Brigg.     1  reckon  you've  never 

heard    tell    o'    (ireenhow     Hill,    hut    yon    hit   o' 

hare    stuff,  il    there    was    nohhnt  a    white    road 

windin',  is  like  ut,  strangely  like.  Moors  an' 
moors  moors  wi'  never  a  tree  lor  shelter,  an' 
-iay  houses  wi'  flag-stone  rooves,  and  pewits 
cryin',  an'  a  windhover  goin'  to  and  £ro  just 

like  these  kites.  And  cold  !  a  wind  that  cuts 
you    like    a    knife.       Yon    could    tell    C.rccnhow 

Mill  folk  by  the  red-apple  color  o'  their  cheeks 

an'  nose  tips,  an1  their  blue  eyes,  driven  into 
pin-points  hy  the  wind.  Miners  mostly,  hm- 
rowin'    for    lead    'f   HT    hillsides,    followin'    I  he 

trail  of  tir  ore  vein  same  as  a  field-rat.    it  was 

the  roughest  minim  I  ever  seen.  Vo\l  come 
on  a   hit   ..'  creakin'  wood  windlass  like  a  well- 


On  Greenhow  Hill         229 

head,  an'  you  was  let  down  i'  th'  bight  of  a 
rope,  fendin'  yoursenof!  the  side  wi' one  hand, 
canyin'  a  candle  stuck  In  a  tump  o'  clay  with 
t'other,  an1  clickin'  hold  of  a  rope  with  t'other 

hand." 

■  \n'  that's  three  of  them,"  said  Mulvanev. 
"  Musi  be  a  -nod  climate  in  those  parts." 

Learoyd  took  no  heed. 

■•  Am'  then  yo'  came  to  a  level,  where  you 
crept  on  your  hands  an'  knees  through  a  mile 
o'  windin'  drift,  an'  you  come  out  into  a  cave- 
place  as  big  as  Leeds  Town-hall,  with  a  en- 
gine pumpin1  water  from  workin's  'at  went 
deeper  still.  It's  a  queer  country,  let  alone 
minin',  for  the  hill  is  full  oi  those  natural 
caves,  an'  the  rivers  an'  the  becks  drops  into 
what  the_\-  call  pot-holes,  an'  come  out  again 
miles  away." 

"  Wot  was  you  doin'  there  ?"  said  Ortheris. 

'•  I  was  a  young  chap  then,  an'  mostly  went 

wi*  'osses,  leadin'  coal  and  lead  ore;  but  at 
th'  time  I'm  tellin'  on  1  was  drivin*  the  wagon 
tram  i'  the  big  sumph.  1  didn't  belong  to 
that  countryside  by  rights.  1  went  there  be- 
cause of  a  little  difference  at  home,  an'  at  fust 
1  took  up  wi'  a  rough  lot.  One  night  we'd 
been  drinkin',  and  1  must  ha'  hed  more  than 
I  could  stand,  or  happen  th'  ale  was  none  so 
good.  Though  i'  them  days,  by  for  God,  I 
never  seed  \^\i\  ale."  lie  flung  his  arms  over 
his  head  and  gripped  a  vast  handful  of  white 
violets.     ••  Nan,"  said  he,  ••  I   never  seed  the 


230         On  Greenhow  Hill 

ale  I  could  not  drink,  the  'bacca  I  could  not 
smoke,  nor  the  lass  I  could  not  kiss.  Well, 
we  mun  have  a  race  home,  the  lot  on  us.  I 
lost  all  th'  others,  an'  when  I  was  climbin' 
ower  one  of  them  walls  built  o'  loose  stones, 
I  comes  down  into  the  ditch,  stones  an'  all,  'an 
broke  my  arm.  Not  as  I  knowed  much  about 
it,  for  I  fell  on  th'  back  o'  my  head,  an'  was 
knocked  stupid  like.  An'  when  I  come  to 
mysen  it  were  mornin',  an'  I  were  lyin'  on  the 
settle  i'  Jesse  Roantree's  house-place,  an'  'Liza 
Roantree  was  settin'  sewin'.  I  ached  all 
ower,  and  my  mouth  were  like  a  lime-kiln. 
She  gave  me  a  drink  out  of  a  china  mug  wi' 
gold  letters — '  A  Present  from  Leeds,' — as  I 
looked  at  many  and  many  a  time  after. 
'  Yo're  to  lie  still  while  Doctor  Warbottom 
comes,  because  your  arm's  broken,  an'  father 
has  sent  a  lad  to  fetch  him.  He  found  yo' 
when  he  was  goin'  to  work,  an'  carried  you 
here  on  his  back,'  sez  she.  '  Oa  !  '  sez  I  ;  an' 
I  shet  my  eyes,  for  I  felt  ashamed  o'  mysen. 
'  Father's  gone  to  his  work  these  three  hours, 
an'  he  said  he'd  tell  'em  to  get  somebody  to 
drive  the  train.'  The  clock  ticked  an'  a  bee 
coined  in  the  house,  an'  they  rung  i'  my  head 
like  mill  wheels.  An'  she  give  me  another 
drink  an'  settled  the  pillow.  '  Eh,  but  yo're 
young  to  be  getten  drunk  an'  such  like,  but 
yo'  won't  do  it  again,  will  yo  ? '  '  Noa,'  sez  I. 
'  I  wouldn't  if  she'd  not  but  stop  they  miLl- 
wheels  clatterin'.' " 


On  Greenhow  Hill  231 

"  Faith,  it's  a  good  thing  to  be  nursed  by  a 
woman  when  you're  sick !  "  said  Mulvaney. 
"  Dirt  cheap  at  the  price  av  twenty  broken 
heads." 

Ortheris  turned  to  frown  across  the  valley. 
He  had  not  been  nursed  by  many  women  in 
his  life. 

"  An'  then  Doctor  Warbottom  comes  ridin' 
up,  an'  Jesse  Roantree  along  with  'im.  He 
was  a  high-larned  doctor,  but  he  talked  wi' 
poor  folks  same  as  theirsens.  '  What's  tha 
bin  agaate  on  naa  ? '  he  sings  out.  '  Brekkin 
tha  thick  head  ? '  An'  he  felt  me  all  over. 
'  That's  none  broken.  Tha'  nobbut  knocked 
a  bit  sillier  than  ordinary,  an'  that's  daaft 
eneaf.'  An'  soa  he  went  on,  callin'  me  all  the 
names  he  could  think  on,  but  settin'  my  arm, 
wi'  Jesse's  help,  as  careful  as  could  be.  '  Yo' 
mun  let  the  big  oaf  bide  here  a  bit,  Jesse,'  he 
says,  when  he  had  strapped  me  up  an'  given 
me  a  dose  o'  physic  ;  '  an'  you  an'  'Liza  will 
tend  him,  though  he's  scarcelins  worth  the 
trouble.  An'tha'll  lose  tha  work,'  sez  he,  '  an' 
tha'll  be  upon  th'  Sick  Club  for  a  couple  o' 
months  an'  more.  Doesn't  tha  think  tha's  a 
fool  ? '  " 

"  But  whin  was  a  young  man,  high  or  low, 
the  other  av  a  fool,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  "  said 
Mulvaney.  "  Sure,  folly's  the  only  safe  way 
to  wisdom,  for  I've  thried  it." 

"  Wisdom  1  "     grinned  Ortheris,    scanning 


232         On  Greenhow  Hill 

his   comrades    with    uplifted    chin.      "  You're 
bloomin'  Solomons,  you  two,  ain't  you  ?  " 

Learoyd  went  calmly  on,  with  a  steady  eye 
like  an  ox  chewing  the  cud.  "  And  that  was 
how  I  corned  to  know  'Liza  Roantree.  There's 
some  tunes  as  she  used  to  sing — aw,  she  were 
always  singin' — that  fetches  Greenhow  Hill 
before  my  eyes  as  fair  as  yon  brow  across 
there.  And  she  would  learn  me  to  sing  bass, 
an'  I  was  to  go  to  th'  chapel  wi'  'em,  where 
Jesse  and  she  led  the  singin',  th'  old  man 
playin'  the  fiddle.  He  was  a  strange  chap, 
old  Jesse,  fair  mad  wi'  music,  an'  he  made  me 
promise  to  learn  the  big  fiddle  when  my  arm 
was  better.  It  belonged  to  him,  and  it  stood 
up  in  a  big  case  alongside  o'  th'  eight-day 
clock,  but  Willie  Satterthwaite,  as  played  it  in 
the  chapel,  had  getten  deaf  as  a  door-post,  and 
it  vexed  Jesse,  as  he  had  to  rap  him  ower  his 
head  wi'  th'  fiddle-stick  to  make  him  give  ower 
sawin'  at  th'  right  time. 

"  But  there  was  a  black  drop  in  it  all,  an'  it 
was  a  man  in  a  black  coat  that  brought  it. 
When  th'  Primitive  Methodist  preacher  came 
to  Greenhow,  he  would  always  stop  wi'  Jesse 
Roantree,  an'  he  laid  hold  of  me  from  th'  be- 
ginning. It  seemed  I  wor  a  soul  to  be  saved, 
an'  he  meaned  to  do  it.  At  th'  same  time  I 
jealoused  'at  he  were  keen  o'  savin'  'Liza 
Roantree's  soul  as  well,  an'  I  could  ha'  killed 
him  many  a  time.  An'  this  went  on  till  one 
day  I  broke  out,  an'  borrowed  th'  brass  for  a 


On  Greenhow  Hill         233 

drink  from  'Liza.  After  fower  days  I  come 
back,  wi'  my  tail  between  my  legs,  just  to  see 
'Liza  again.  But  Jesse  were  at  home,  an'  th' 
preacher — th'  Reverend  Amos  Barraclough. 
'Liza  said  naught,  but  a  bit  o'  red  come  into 
her  face  as  were  white  of  a  regular  thing. 
Says  Jesse,  tryin'  his  best  to  be  civil :  '  Nay, 
lad,  it's  like  this.  You've  getten  to  choose 
which  way  it's  goin'  to  be.  I'll  ha'  nobody 
across  ma  doorsteps  as  goe°  a-drinkin',  an' 
borrows  my  lass's  money  to  spend  i'  their  drink. 
Ho'd  tha  tongue,  'Liza,'  sez  he  when  she 
wanted  to  put  in  a  word  'at  I  were  welcome 
to  th'  brass,  an'  she  were  none  afraid  that  I 
wouldn't  pay  it  back.  Then  the  reverend  cuts 
in,  seein'  as  Jesse  were  losin'  his  temper,  an' 
they  fair  beat  me  among  them.  But  it  were 
'Liza,  as  looked  an'  said  naught,  as  did  more 
than  either  o'  their  tongues,  an'  soa  I  con- 
cluded to  get  converted." 

"  Fwhat ! "  shouted  Mulvaney.  Then, 
checking  himself,  he  said,  softly  :  "  Let  be  ! 
Let  be  !  Sure  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  the  mother 
of  all  religion  an'  most  women ;  an'  there's  a 
dale  av  piety  in  a  girl  if  the  men  would  only 
let  it  stay  there.  I'd  ha'  been  converted  my- 
self under  the  circumstances." 

"  Nay,  but,"  pursued  Learoyd,  with  a  blush, 
"  I  meaned  it." 

Ortheris  laughed  as  loudly  as  he  dared, 
having  regard-to  his  business  at  the  time. 

"  Ay,   Ortheris,   you    may    laugh,    but    you 


234 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


didn't  know  yon  preacher  Barraclough — a 
little  white-faced  chap  wi'  a  voice  as  'ud  wile 
a  bird  off  an  a  bush,  and  a  way  o'  layin'  hold 
of  folks  as  made  them  think  they'd  never  had 
a  live  man  for  a  friend  before.  You  never 
saw  him,  an' — an' — you  never  seed  'Liza  Roan- 
tree — never  seed  'Liza  Roantree.  .  .  .  Happen 
it  was  as  much  'Liza  as  th'  preacher  and  her 
father,  but  anyways  they  all  meaned  it,  an'  I 
was  fair  shamed  o'  mysen,  an'  so  become 
what  they  called  a  changed  character.  And 
when  I  think  on,  it's  hard  to  believe  as  yon 
chap  going  to  prayer-meetin's,  chapel,  and 
class-meetin's  were  me.  But  I  never  had 
naught  to  say  for  mysen,  though  there  was  a 
deal  o'  shoutin',  and  old  Sammy  Strother,  as 
were  almost  clemmed  to  death  and  doubled 
up  with  the  rheumatics,  would  sing  out,  '  Joy- 
ful !  joyful ! '  and  'at  it  were  better  to  go  up 
to  heaven  in  a  coal-basket  than  down  to  hell 
i'  a  coach  an'  six.  And  he  would  put  his  poor 
old  claw  on  my  shoulder,  sayin'  :  '  Doesn't 
tha  feel  it,  tha  great  lump  ?  Doesn't  tha  feel 
it  ? '  An'  sometimes  I  thought  I  did,  and 
then  again  I  thought  I  didn't,  an'  how  was 
that  ?  " 

"  The  iverlastin  '  nature  av  mankind,"  said 
Mulvaney.  "  An  ',  furthermore,  I  misdoubt 
you  were  built  for  the  Primitive  Methodians. 
They're  a  new  corps  anyways.  I  hold  by  the 
Ould  Church,  for  she's  the  mother  of  them  all 
— ay,  an  '  the   father,  too.     I  like  her  bekase 


On  Greenhow  Hill         235 

she's  most  remarkable  regimental  in  her  fit- 
tings. I  may  die  in  Honolulu,  Nova  Zambra, 
or  Cape  Cayenne,  but  wherever  I  die,  me 
bein'  fwhat  I  am,  an'  a  priest  handy,  I  go  un- 
der the  same  orders  an'  the  same  words  an' 
the  same  unction  as  tho'  the  pope  himself 
come  down  from  the  dome  av  St.  Peter's  to 
see  me  off.  There's  neither  high  nor  low,  nor 
broad  nor  deep,  not  betwixt  nor  between  with 
her,  an'  that's  what  I  like.  But  mark  you, 
she's  no  manner  av  Church  for  a  wake  man, 
bekase  she  takes  the  body  and  the  soul  av 
him,  onless  he  has  his  proper  work  to  do.  I 
remember  when  my  father  died,  that  was  three 
months  comin'  to  his  grave  ;  begad  he'd  ha' 
sold  the  sheebeen  above  our  heads  for  ten 
minutes'  quittance  of  purgathory.  An'  he  did 
all  he  could.  That's  why  I  say  it  takes  a 
strong  man  to  deal  with  the  Ould  Church,  an' 
for  that  reason  you'll  find  so  many  women  go 
there.     An'  that  same's  a  conundrum." 

"  Wot's  the  use  o'  worritin'  'bout  these 
things  ?  "  said  Ortheris.  "  You're  bound  to 
find  all  out  quicker  nor  you  want  to,  any'ow." 
He  jerked  the  cartridge  out  of  the  breech-lock 
into  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  'Ere's  my  chap- 
lain," he  said,  and  made  the  venomous  black- 
headed  bullet  bow  like  a  marionette.  "  'E's 
going'  to  teach  a  man  all  about  which  is  which, 
an'  wot's  true,  after  all,  before  sundown.  But 
wot  'appened  after  that,  Jock  ?  " 

"  There  was  one  thing  they  boggled  at,  and 

13 


236 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


almost  shut  th'  gate  i'  my  face  for,  and  that 
were  my  dog  Blast,  th'  only  one  saved  out  o'  a 
litter  o'  pups  as  was  blowed  up  when  a  keg  o' 
minin'  powder  loosed  off  in  th'  storekeeper's 
hut.  They  liked  his  name  no  better  than  his 
business,  which  was  fightin'  every  dog  he 
corned  across  ;  a  rare  good  dog,  wi'  spots  o' 
black  and  pink  on  his  face,  one  ear  gone,  and 
lame  o'  one  side  wi'  being  driven  in  a  basket 
through  an  iron  roof,  a  matter  of  half  a  mile. 
"  They  said  I  mun  give  him  up  '  cause  'he 
were  worldly  and  low  ;  and  would  I  let  mysen 
be  shut  out  of  heaven  for  the  sake  of  a  dog  ? 
'  Nay,'  says  I,  '  if  th'  door  isn't  wide  enough 
for  th'  pair  on  us,  we'll  stop  outside,  or  we'll 
none  be  parted.'  And  th'  preacher  spoke  up 
for  Blast,  as  had  a  likin'  for  him  from  th'  first 
— I  reckon  that  was  why  I  come  to  like  th' 
preacher — and  wouldn't  hear  o'  changin'  his 
name  to  Bless,  as  some  o'  them  wanted.  So 
th'  pair  on  us  became  reg'lar  chapel  members. 
But  it's  hard  for  a  young  chap  o'  my  build  to 
cut  tracks  from  the  world,  th'  flesh,  an'  the 
devil  all  av  a  heap.  Yet  I  stuck  to  it  for  a 
long  time,  while  th'  lads  as  used  to  stand  about 
th'  town-end  an'  lean  ower  th'  bridge,  spittin' 
into  th'  beck  o'  a  Sunday,  would  call  after  me, 
'  Sitha,  Learoyd,  when's  tha  bean  to  preach, 
'cause  we're  comin'  to  hear  that.'  '  Ho'd  tha 
jaw  !  He  hasn't  getten  th'  white  choaker  on 
to  morn,'  another  lad  would  say,  and  I  had  to 
double  my  fists  hard  i'  th'  bottom  of  my   Sun- 


On  Greenhow  Hill  237 

day  coat,  and  say  to  mysen,  <  If  'twere  Monday 
and  I  warn't  a  member  o'  the  Primitive 
Methodists,  I'd  leather  all  th'  lot  of  yondV 
That  was  th'  hardest  of  all — to  know  that  I 
could  light  and  I  mustn't  fight." 

Sympathetic  grunts  from  Mulvaney. 

"  So  what  wi'  singin',  practicing  and  class- 
meetin's,  and  th'  big  fiddle,  as  he  made  me  take 
between  my  knees,  I  spent  a  deal  o'  time  i' 
Jesse  Roantree's  house-place.  But  often  as  I 
was  there,  th'  preacher  fared  to  me  to  go 
oftener,  and  both  th'  old  an'  th'  young  woman 
were  pleased  to  have  him.  He  lived  i'  Pately 
Brigg,  as  were  a  goodish  step  off,  but  he  come. 
He  come  all  the  same.  I  liked  him  as  well  or 
better  as  any  man  I'd  ever  seen  i'  one  way, 
and  yet  I  hated  him  wi'  all  my  heart  i'  t'other, 
and  we  watched  each  other  like  cat  and  mouse, 
but  civil  as  you  please,  for  I  was  on  my  best 
behavior,  and  he  was  that  fair  and  open  that 
I  was  bound  to  be  fair  with  him.  Rare  and 
good  company  he  was,  if  I  hadn't  wanted  to 
wring  his  cliver  little  neck  half  of  the  time. 
Often  and  often  when  he  was  goin'  from 
Jesse's  I'd  set  him  a  bit  on  the  road." 

"  See  'im  'ome,  you  mean  ? "  said  Ortheris. 

"  Aye.  It's  a  way  we  have  i'  Yorkshire  o' 
seein'  friends  off.  Yon  was  a  friend  as  I 
didn't  want  to  come  back,  and  he  didn't  want 
me  to  come  back  neither,  and  so  we'd  walk 
together  toward  Pately,  and  then  he'd  set  me 
back  asrain,   and  there  we'd  be    twal  two    i' 


238 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


o'clock  the  mornin'  settin'  each  other  to  an' 
fro  like  a  blasted  pair  o'  pendulums  twixt  hill 
and  valley,  long  after  th'  light  had  gone  out  i' 
'Liza's  window,  as  both  on  us  had  been  look- 
ing at,  pretending  to  watch  the  moon." 

"  Ah !  "  broke  in  Mulvaney,  "  ye'd  no 
chanst  against  the  maraudin'  psalm-singer. 
They'll  take  the  airs  an'  the  graces,  instid  av 
the  man,  nine  times  out  av  ten,  an'  they  only 
find  the  blunder  later — the  wimmen." 

"  That's  just  where  yo're  wrong,"  said 
Learoyd,  reddening  under  the  freckled  tan  of 
his  cheek.  "  I  was  th'  first  wi'  Liza,  an'  yo'd 
think  that  were  enough.  But  th'  parson  were 
a  steady-gaited  sort  o'  chap,  and  Jesse  were 
strong  o'  his  side,  and  all  th'  women  i'  the 
congregation  dinned  it  to  'Liza  'at  she  were 
fair  fond  to  take  up  wi'  a  wastrel  ne'er-do- 
weel  like  me,  as  was  scarcelins  respectable, 
and  a  fighting-dog  at  his  heels.  It  was  all 
very  well  for  her  to  be  doing  me  good  and 
saving  my  •  soul,  but  she  must  mind  as  she 
didn't  do  herself  harm.  They  talk  o'  rich 
folk  bein'  stuck  up  an'  genteel,  but  for  cast- 
iron  pride  o'  respectability,  there's  naught  like 
poor  chapel  folk.  It's  as  cold  as  th'  wind  o' 
Greenhow  Hill — aye,  and  colder,  for  'twill 
never  change.  And  now  I  come  to  think  on 
it,  one  of  the  strangest  things  I  know  is  'at 
they  couldn't  abide  th'  thought  o'  soldiering. 
There's  a  vast  o'  fightin'  i'  th'  Bible,  and 
there's  a  deal  of  Methodists  i'  th'  army  ;  but 


On  Greenhow  Hill  239 

to  hear  chapel  folk  talk  yo'd  think  that  sol- 
dierin'  were  next  door,  an  t'other  side,  to 
hangin'.  I'  their  meetin's  all  their  talk  is  o' 
fightin'.  When  Sammy  Strother  were  struk 
for  summat  to  say  in  his  prayers,  he'd  sing 
out :  '  The  sword  o'  th'  Lord  and  o'  Gideon.' 
They  were  alius  at  it  about  puttin'  on  th' 
whole  armor  o'  righteousness,  an'  fightin'  the 
good  fight  o'  faith.  And  then,  atop  o'  't  all, 
they  held  a  prayer-meetin'  ower  a  young  chap 
as  wanted  to  'list,  and  nearly  deafened  him, 
till  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  fair  ran  away. 
And  they'd  tell  tales  in  th'  Sunday-school  o' 
bad  lads  as  had  been  thumped  and  brayed 
for  bird-nesting  o'  Sundays  and  playin'  truant 
o'  week-days,  and  how  they  took  to  wrestlin', 
dog-fightin',  rabbit-runnin',  and  drinkin',  till 
at  last,  as  if  'twere  a  hepitaph  on  a  grave- 
stone, they  damned  him  across  th'  moors  wi' 
it,  an'  then  he  went  and  'listed  for  a  soldier, 
an'  they'd  all  fetch  a  deep  breath,  and  throw 
up  their  eyes  like  a  hen  drinkin'." 

"  Fwhy  is  it  ?  "  said  Mulvaney,  bringing 
down  his  hands  on  his  thigh  with  a  crack. 
"  In  the  name  av  God,  fwhy  is  it  ?  I've  seen 
it,  tu.  They  cheat  an'  they  swindle,  an'  they 
lie  an'  they  slander,  an'  fifty  things  fifty  times 
worse ;  but  the  last  an'  the  worst,  by  their 
reckoning  is  to  serve  the  Widely  honest.  It's 
like  the  talk  av  childer — seein'  things  all 
round." 

"  Plucky  lot  of  fightin'  good  fights  of  whats- 


240 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


ername  they'd  do  if  we  didn't  see  they  had  a 
quiet  place  to  fight  in.  And  such  nghtin'  as 
theirs  is  !  Cats  on  the  tiles.  T'other  callin' 
to  which  to  come  on.  I'd  give  a  month's  pay 
to  get  some  o'  them  broad-backed  beggars  in 
London  sweatin'  through  a  day's  road-makin' 
an'  a  night's  rain.  They'd  carry  on  a  deal 
afterward — same  as  we're  supposed  to  carry 
on.  I've  bin  turned  out  of  a  measly  'arf 
license  pub.  down  Lambeth  way,  full  o'  greasy 
kebmen,  'fore  now,"  said  Ortheris  with  an 
oath. 

"  Maybe  you  were  dhrunk,"  said  Mulvaney, 
soothingly. 

"  Worse  nor  that.  The  Forders  were 
drunk.  I  was  wearin'  the  queen's  uni- 
form." 

"  I'd  not  particular  thought  to  be  a  soldier 
i'  them  days,"  said  Learoyd,  still  keeping  his 
eye  on  the  bare  hill  opposite,  "  but  his  sort  o' 
talk  put  it  i'  my  head.  They  was  so  good, 
th'  chapel  folk,  that  they  tumbled  ower  t'other 
side.  But  I  stuck  to  it  for  'Liza's  sake, 
specially  as  she  was  learning  me  to  sing  the 
bass  part  in  a  horotorio  as  Jesse  were  getting 
up.  She  sung  like  a  throstle  hersen,  and  we 
had  practisin's  night  after  night  for  a  matter 
of  three  months." 

"  I  know  what  a  horotorio  is,"  said  Orthe- 
ris, pertly.  "  It's  a  sort  of  chaplain's  sing- 
song— words  all  out  of  the  Bible,  and  hullaba- 
loo j  ah  choruses." 


On  Greenhow  Hill  241 

"  Most  Greenhow  Hill  folks  played  some 
instrument  or  t'other,  an'  they  all  sung  so  you 
might  have  heard  them  miles  away,  and  they 
was  so  pleased  wi'  the  noise  they  made  they 
didn't  fair  to  want  anybody  to  listen.  The 
preacher  sung  high  seconds  when  he  wasn't 
playin'  the  flute,  an'  they  set  me,  as  hadn't 
got  far  with  big  fiddle,  again  Willie  Satter- 
thwaite,  to  jog  his  elbow  when  he  had  to  get 
a'  gate  playin'.  Old  Jesse  was  happy  if  ever 
a  man  was,  for  he  were  th'  conductor  an'  th' 
first  fiddle  an'  th'  leadin'  singer,  beatin'  time 
wi'  his  fiddle-stick,  till  at  times  he'd  rap  with 
it  on  the  table,  and  cry  out :  '  Now,  you  mun 
all  stop  ;  it's  my  turn.'  And  he'd  face  round 
to  his  front,  fair  sweatin'  wi'  pride,  to  sing  the 
tenor  solos.  But  he  were  grandest  i'  th' 
chorus  waggin'  his  head,  flinging  his  arms 
round  like  a  windmill,  and  singin'  hisself 
black  in  the  face.  A  rare  singer  were 
Jesse. 

"  Yo'  see,  I  was  not  o'  much  account  wi'  'em 
all  exceptin'  to  Eliza  Roantree,  and  I  had  a 
deal  o'  time  settin'  quiet  at  meeting  and  horo- 
torio  practises  to  hearken  their  talk,  and  if  it 
were  strange  to  me  at  beginnin',  it  got  stranger 
still  at  after,  when  I  was  shut  in,  and  could 
study  what  it  meaned. 

"Just  after  th' horotorios   come  off,  'Liza, 

as  had  alius  been  weakly  like,  was  took  very 

bad.     I  walked  Doctor  Warbottom's  horse  up 

and  clown  a  deal  of  times  while  he  were  inside, 

16 


242  On  Greenhow  Hill 

where  they  wouldn't  let  me  go,  though  1  fair 
ached  to  see  her. 

"  '  She'll  be  better  i'  noo,  lad — better  i'  noo,' 
he  used  to  say.  '  Tha  mun  ha'  patience.' 
Then  they  said  if  I  was  quiet  I  might  go  in, 
and  th'  Reverend  Amos  Barraclough  used  to 
read  to  her  lyin'  propped  up  among  th'  pil- 
lows. Then  she  began  to  mend  a  bit,  and 
they  let  me  carry  her  on  th'  settle,  and  when 
it  got  warm  again  she  went  about  same  as 
afore.  Th'  preacher  and  me  and  Blast  was  a 
deal  together  i'  them  days,  and  i'  one  way  we 
was  rare  good  comrades.  But  I  could  ha' 
stretched  him  time  and  again  with  a  good-will. 
I  mind  one  day  he  said  he  would  like  to  go 
down  into  th'  bowels  o'  th'  earth,  and  see  how 
th'  Lord  had  builded  th'  framework  o'  the  ever- 
lastin'  hills.  He  was  one  of  them  chaps  as 
had  a  gift  o'  sayin'  things.  They  rolled  off 
the  tip  of  his  clever  tongue,  same  as  Mulvaney 
here,  as  would  ha'  made  a  rale  good  preacher 
if  he  had  nobbut  given  his  mind  to  it.  I  lent 
him  a  suit  o'  miner's  kit  as  almost  buried  th' 
little  man,  and  his  white  face,  down  i'  th'  coat 
collar  and  hat  flap,  looked  like  the  face  of  a 
boggart,  and  he  cowered  down  i'  th'  bottom  o' 
the  wagon.  I  was  drivin'  a  tram  as  led  up  a 
bit  of  an  incline  up  to  th'  cave  where  the 
engine  was  pumpin',  and  where  th'  ore  was 
brought  up  and  put  into  th'  wagons  as  went 
down  o'  themselves,  me  puttin'  th'  brake  on 
and  th'  horses  a-trottin'  after.     Long  as  it  was 


On  Greenhow  Hill  243 

daylight  we  were  good  friends,  but  when  we 
got  fair  into  th'  dark,  and  could  nobbut  see 
th'  day  shinin'  at  the  hole  like  a  lamp  at  a 
street  end,  I  feeled  downright  wicked.  My 
religion  dropped  all  away  from  me  when 
I  looked  back  at  him  as  were  always  comin' 
between  me  and  Eliza.  The  talk  was  'at  they 
were  to  be  wed  when  she  got  better,  an'  I 
couldn't  get  her  to  say  yes  or  nay  to  it.  He 
began  to  sing  a  hymn  in  his  thin  voice,  and  I 
came  out  wi'  a  chorus  that  was  all  cussin'  an' 
swearin'  at  my  horses,  an'  I  began  to  know  how 
I  hated  him.  He  were  such  a  little  chap,  too. 
I  could  drop  him  wi'  one  hand  down  Gar- 
stang's  copperhole — a  place  where  th'  beck 
slithered  ower  th'  edge  on  a  rock,  and  fell  wi' 
a  bit  of  a  whisper  into  a  pit  as  rope  i'  Green- 
how  could  plump." 

Again  Learoyd  rooted  up  the  innocent  vio- 
lets. "Aye,  he  should  see  th' bowels  o'  th' 
earth  an'  never  naught  else.  I  could  take 
him  a  mile  or  two  along  th'  drift,  and  leave 
him  wi'  his  candle  doused  to  cry  hallelujah, 
wi'  none  to  hear  him  and  say  amen.  I  was  to 
lead  him  down  the  ladderway  to  th'  drift  where 
Jesse  Roantree  was  workin',  and  why  shouldn't 
he  slip  on  th'  ladder,  wi'  my  feet  on  his  fingers 
till  they  loosed  grip,  and  I  put  him  down  wi' 
my  heel  ?  If  I  went  fust  down  th'  ladder  I 
could  click  hold  on  him  and  chuck  him  over  my 
head,  so  as  he  should  go  squashm"  down  the 
shaft,  breakin'  his  bones  at  ev'ry  timberin',  as 


244  0°  Greenhow  Hill 

Bill  Appleton  did  when  he  was  fresh,  and 
hadn't  a  bone  left  when  he  brought  to  th'  bot- 
tom. Niver  a  blasted  leg  to  walk  from  Pately. 
Niver  an  arm  to  put  round  'Liza  Roantree's 
waist.     Niver  no  more — niver  no  more." 

The  thick  lips  curled  back  over  the  yellow 
teeth,  and  that  flushed  face  was  not  pretty  to 
look  upon.  Mulvaney  nodded  sympathy,  and 
Ortheris,  moved  by  his  comrade's  passion, 
brought  up  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and 
searched  the  hillsides  for  his  quarry,  mutter- 
ing ribaldry  about  a  sparrow,  a  spout,  and  a 
thunder-storm.  The  voice  of  the  water-course 
supplied  the  necessary  small-talk  till  Learoyd 
picked  up  his  story. 

"  But  it's  none  so  easy  to  kill  a  man  like 
you.  When  I'd  give  up  my  horses  to  th'  lad 
as  took  my  place,  and  I  was  showin'  th' 
preacher  th'  workin's,  shoutin'  into  his  ear 
across  th'  clang  o'  th'  pumpin'  engines,  I  saw 
he  was  afraid  o'  naught ;  and  when  the  lamp- 
light showed  his  black  eyes,  I  could  feel  as  he 
was  masterin'  me  again.  I  were  no  better  nor 
Blast  chained  up  short  and  growlin'  i'  the 
depths  of  him  while  a  strange  dog  went  safe 
past. 

"  '  Th'art  a  coward  and  a  fool,'  I  said  to  my- 
sen  :  an'  wrestled  i'  my  mind  again'  him  till, 
when  we  come  to  Garstang's  copper-hole,  I 
laid  hold  o'  the  preacher  and  lifted  him  up 
over  my  head  and  held  him  into  the  darkest 
on  it.      '  Now,  lad,'  I  says,  '  it's  to  be  one  or 


On  Greenhow  Hill  245 

t'other  on  us — thee  or  me — for  'Liza  Roan- 
tree.  Why,  isn't  thee  afraid  for  thysen  ? '  I 
says,  for  he  were  still  i'  my  arms  as  a  sack. 
'  Nay;  I'm  but  afraid  for  thee,  my  poor  lad, 
as  knows  naught,'  says  he.  I  set  him  down 
on  th'  edge,  an'  th'  beck  run  stiller,  an'  there 
was  no  more  buzzin'  in  my  head  like  when  th' 
bee  come  through  th'  window  o'  Jesse's  house. 
'  What  dost  tha  mean  ? '  says  I. 

"  *  IVe  often  thought  as  thou  ought  to  know,' 
says  he,  '  but  'twas  hard  to  tell  thee.  'Liza 
Roantree's  for  neither  on  us,  nor  for  nobody 
o'  this  earth.  Doctor  Warbottom  says — and 
he  knows  her,  and  her  mother  before  her — 
that  she  is  in  a  decline,  and  she  cannot  live  six 
months  longer.  He's  known  it  for  many  a 
day.  Steady,  John !  Steady !  '  says  he. 
And  that  weak  little  man  pulled  me  further 
back  and  set  me  again'  him,  and  talked  it  all 
over  quiet  and  still,  me  turnin'  a  bunch  o' 
candles  in  my  hand,  and  counting  them  ower 
and  ower  again  as  I  listened.  A  deal  on  it 
were  th'  regular  preachin'  talk,  but  there  were 
a  vast  lot  as  made  me  begin  to  think  as  he 
were  more  of  a  man  than  I'd  ever  given  him 
credit  for,  till  I  were  cut  as  deep  for  him  as  I 
were  for  mysen. 

"  Six  candles  we  had,  and  we  crawled  and 
climbed  all  that  day  while  they  lasted,  and  I 
said  to  mysen  :  '  'Liza  Roantree  hasn't  six 
months  to  live.'  And  when  we  came  into  th' 
daylight  again  we  were  like  dead  men  to  look 


246 


On  Greenhow  Hill 


at,  an'  Blast  come  behind  us  without  so  much 
as  waggin'  his  tail.  When  I  saw  'Liza  again 
she  looked  at  me  a  minute,  and  says  :  '  Who's 
telled  tha  ?  For  I  see  tha  knows.'  And  she 
tried  to  smile  as  she  kissed  me,  and  I  fair 
broke  down. 

"  You  see,  I  was  a  young  chap  i'  them  days, 
and  had  seen  naught  o'  life,  let  alone  death, 
as  is  alius  a-waitin'.  She  telled  me  as  Doctor 
Warbottom  said  as  Greenhow  air  was  too  keen, 
and  they  were  goin'  to  Bradford,  to  Jesse's 
brother  David,  as  worked  i'  a  mill,  and  I  mun 
hold  up  like  a  man  and  a  Christian,  and  she'd 
pray  for  me  well ;  and  they  went  away,  and  the 
preacher  that  same  back  end  o'  th'  year  were 
appointed  to  another  circuit,  as  they  call  it,  and 
I  were  left  alone  on  Greenhow  Hill. 

"  I  tried,  and  I  tried  hard,  to  stick  to  th' 
chapel,  but  'tweren't  th'  same  thing  at  all 
after.  I  hadn't  'Liza's  voice  to  follow  i'  th' 
singin',  nor  her  eyes  a-shinin'  acrost  their 
heads.  And  i'  th'  class-meetings  they  said  as 
I  mun  have  some  experiences  to  tell,  and  I 
hadn't  a  word  to  say  for  mysen. 

"  Blast  and  me  moped  a  good  deal,  and 
happen  we  didn't  behave  ourselves  over  well, 
for  they  dropped  us,  and  wondered  however 
they'd  come  to  take  us  up.  I  can't  tell  how 
we  got  through  th'  time,  while  i'  th'  winter  I 
gave  up  my  job  and  went  to  Bradford.  Old 
Jesse  were  at  th'  door  o'  th'  house,  in  a  long 
street  o'  little  houses.     He'd  been  sendin'  th' 


On  Greenhow  Hill  247 

children  'way  as  were  clatterin'  their  clogs 
in  th'  causeway,  for  she  were  asleep. 

"  '  Is  it  thee  ? '  he  says  ; '  but  you're  not  to  see 
her.  I'll  none  have  her  wakened  for  a  nowt 
like  thee.  She's  goin'  fast,  and  she  mun  go  in 
peace.  Thou'lt  never  be  good  for  naught  i' 
th'  world,  and  as  long  as  thou  lives  thou'll  never 
play  the  big  fiddle.  Get  away,  lad,  get  away  ! ' 
So  he  shut  the  door  softly  i'  my  face. 

"  Nobody  never  made  Jesse  my  master,  but 
it  seemed  to  me  he  was  about  right,  and  I 
went  away  into  the  town  and  knocked  up 
against  a  recruiting  sergeant.  The  old  tales 
o'  th'  chapel  folk  came  buzzin'  into  my  head. 
I  was  to  get  away,  and  this  were  th'  regular 
road  for  the  likes  o'  me.  I  'listed  there  and 
then,  took  th'  Widow's  shillin',  and  had  a 
bunch  o'  ribbons  pinned  i'  my  hat. 

"  But  next  day  I  found  my  way  to  David 
Roantree's  door,  and  Jesse  came  to  open  it. 
Says  he :  '  Thou's  come  back  again  wi'  th' 
devil's  colors  flyin* — thy  true  colors,  as  I  al- 
ways telled  thee'. 

••  I  kit  I  begged  and  prayed  of  him  to  let  me 
see  her  nobbut  to  say  good-by,  till  a  woman 
calls  down  th'  stairway — she  says,  '  John  Lea- 
royd's  to  come  up.'  Th'  old  man  shift  aside  in 
a  Hash,  and  lays  his  hand  on  my  arm,  quite 
gentle  like.  '  But  thou'lt  be  quiet,  John,'  says 
he, '  for  she's  rare  and  weak.  Thou  wast  alius 
a  good  lad.' 

"  Her  eyes  were  alive  wi'  light,  and  her  hair 


248  On  Greenhow  Hill 

was  thick  on  the  pillow  round  her,  but  her 
cheeks  were  thin — thin  to  frighten  a  man 
that's  strong.  '  Nay,  father,  yo'  mayn't  say 
th'  devil's  colors.  Them  ribbons  is  pretty.' 
An'  she  held  out  her  hands  for  th'  hat,  an'  she 
put  all  straight  as  a  woman  will  wi'  ribbons. 
'  Nay,  but  what  they're  pretty,'  she  says.  '  Eh, 
but  I'd  ha'  liked  to  see  thee  i'  thy  red  coat, 
John,  for  thou  wast  alius  my  own  lad — my 
very  own  lad,  and  none  else.' 

"  She  lifted  up  her  arms,  and  they  came 
round  my  neck  i'  a  gentle  grip,  and  they 
slacked  away,  and  she  seemed  fainting.  '  Now 
yo'  mun  get  away,  lad,'  says  Jesse,  and  I 
picked  up  my  hat  and  I  came  down-stairs. 

"  Th'  recruiting  sergeant  were  waitin'  for 
me  at  th'  corner  public-house.  '  Yo've  seen 
your  sweetheart  ?  '  says  he.  '  Yes,  I've  seen 
her,'  says  I.  '  Well,  we'll  have  a  quart  now, 
and  you'll  do  your  best  to  forget  her,'  says  he, 
bein'  one  o'  them  smart,  bustlin'  chaps.  '  Aye, 
sergeant,'  says  I.  '  Forget  her.'  And  I've 
been  forgettin'  her  ever  since." 

He  threw  away  the  wilted  clump  of  white 
violets  as  he  spoke.  Ortheris  suddenly  rose 
to  his  knees,  his  rifle  at  his  shoulder,  and 
peered  across  the  valley  in  the  clear  after- 
noon light.  His  chin  cuddled  the  stock,  and 
there  was  a  twitching  of  the  muscles  of  the 
right  cheek  as  he  sighted.  Private  Stanley 
Ortheris  was  engaged  on  his  business.  A 
speck  of  white  crawled  up  the  water-course. 


On  Greenhow  Hill  249 

"  See  that  beggar  ?     Got  'im." 

Seven  hundred  yards  away,  and  a  full  two 
hundred  down  the  hillside,  the  deserter  of  the 
Aurangabadis  pitched  forward,  rolled  down  a 
red  rock,  and  lay  very  still,  with  his  face  in  a 
clump  of  blue  gentians,  while  a  big  raven 
flapped  out  of  the  pine  wood  to  make  investi- 
gation. 

"  That's  a  clean  shot,  little  man,"  said 
Mulvaney. 

Learoyd  thoughtfully  watched  the  smoke 
clear  away. 

"  Happen  there  was  a  lass  tewed  up  wi'  him, 
too,"  said  he.  Ortheris  did  not  reply.  He 
was  staring  across  the  valley,  with  the  smile 
of  the  artist  who  looks  on  the  completed  work. 
For  he  saw  that  it  was  good. 


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